


There's No Place Like Home (This May Kill You, Inside and Out)

by sartiebodyshots



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: A Paragon of Her Kind, F/M, Gen, Orzammar, Rewrite
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-02
Updated: 2016-04-02
Packaged: 2018-05-30 16:59:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 25,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6432790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sartiebodyshots/pseuds/sartiebodyshots
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sereda Aeducan had never wanted to return to Orzammar after escaping from the Deep Roads with Duncan and his Grey Wardens, but when she and Alistair are tasked with forcing various groups around Ferelden to fulfil the ancient treaties, she knows she'll have no choice.   She's hidden the circumstances of her exile well from her friends, and now she has to confront and ally with her fratricidal brother as she tries to calm the political tensions in Orzammar.</p>
            </blockquote>





	There's No Place Like Home (This May Kill You, Inside and Out)

**Author's Note:**

> I really, really wanted more from the game with regards to an Aeducan returning to Orzammar (especially one that sides with Bhelen), so I decided to write it! This cuts out all of the smaller encounters that aren't relevant to the main plot. I loved them (especially Dagna, my smol genius daughter), but they slowed the pace of the fic too much. The real focus is on Sereda's relationship with Bhelen and Trian as well as her relationships with Zevran and Alistair.

“How are we supposed to find our way around the Deep Roads?” Alistair asks, looking at the entrance with no small amount of fear.  “We don’t have much of a map, and it seems… dark down there.”

“I’ll guide us, of course,” Sereda says, tapping her foot impatiently.  “No need for maps.”

Alistair and Zevran exchange looks, while Sereda looks on.  They seem to be having some kind of silent argument with each other, and Sereda just wants to get going.  Down deeper into the Stone, where a dwarf belongs.  Down deeper away from all the judging looks of Orzammar and down deeper away from the sick knowledge that she’s going to crown her brother’s killer king.  

Her mabari, Valda, growls in a way that she takes as agreement.  Tired of waiting for them to finish whatever silent battle they’re waging, Sereda heads into the Deep Roads with Valda right beside her.  The men can catch up when they’re done staring at each other.  

It takes them half a minute before they notice her absence, but she hears Zevran’s sweet voice calling, “Wait!  Where are you going?”

“We have to find Lord Dace, and you two are just staring at each other.  So I’m going after him with Valda,” Sereda says.  

“It’s just…” Alistair starts before looking over at Zevran.  “Zevran wants to tell you something?”

Zevran looks balefully at Alistair before stepping forward.  “My dear Warden, you have many talents.  Your skill in battle is unmatched and your skill as a lover brings me to-”

Alistair coughs hard.  

“Please just tell me what the problem is,” Sereda says.  “If you’re worried about the deepstalkers, they’re not that dangerous.”

Zevran and Alistair share another look and she’s ready to charge in without them again.

“You have a poor sense of direction,” Zevran finally says.  “Being lost deep underground is… unappealing.  Perhaps we could find a more detailed map before heading forth.”

Sereda laughs, mostly at their nervousness.  Do they think she doesn’t know that her sense of direction is terrible aboveground?  They’ve spent a lot of time lost in forests and walking down the wrong road.  Not her fault their world doesn’t make any sense.

“Dwarves have stone sense, you guys.  We don’t get lost down here.  It’s in our bones,” Sereda says confidently.  

“Stone sense?” Zevran asks.

“Yes.  It comes from living down here,” Sereda says.  “The Stone affects us.  She’s also why we can’t do magic and why it takes Wynne double the time to heal me.  Dwarf stuff.”

Alistair clears his throat.  “Does it, uh, wear off?  You’ve been gone for some time.”

Of course, Alistair has no idea how hurtful the question is and he has every right to ask, but his question still feels like a punch in the gut.  Her stone sense is part of what makes her who she is; it’s part of her dwarven identity.  It’s not something she wants to get into with them right here and now, so she keeps her face carefully blank.

“It takes a lot longer than that.” Sereda says firmly.  “If it helps, we’re just going to the Aeducan Thaig.  I’ve been there before, and I promise that I remember it.”

That’s where she had found Trian and realized what a fool she had been.  It’s impossible for her to hide the emotion in her voice.  The somberness must sway them because they both nod at her.

“We trust you, dear Warden,” Zevran says with uncharacteristic solemnity.  

Sereda nods to both of them and turns back to the Deep Roads.  She runs her fingers along Valda’s back as she leads her companions into the darkness.  

It’s a relief when she doesn’t feel overwhelmed or lost; despite her certainty earlier, she had worried that time had dulled her stone sense.  All she feels is the solid presence of the Stone surrounding her.  While she had felt perfectly comfortable back in the Diamond Quarter, that hadn’t been a good test; she could navigate the Diamond Quarter with her eyes closed even without the stone sense.  That’s where she grew up.  But down here, she can really feel the Stone properly, and she feels like she always has.  

Sereda skims her fingers against the wall gently.  The wet roughness feels so good under her fingers, and she loves it, wants to remember it when she inevitably has to leave.  

They walk and they fight with confidence, and she never leads them down a wrong corridor.  She knows exactly where they’re going.  

The only time she pauses is when they cross through where she found Trian.  It’s a heavy weight on her chest.  This is the place where her entire life changed and where her older brother’s life ended.  Where her father decided that he would place their House over her life as Bhelen looked on, the mastermind of it all and next king of Orzammar, if Sereda is successful.

“Sereda?” Alistair’s voice is quiet.  “Is everything alright?”

She inhales sharply and nods.  “Of course.”

“Not lost, are we?” Alistair asks.

“No, sorry,” Sereda says, shaking herself a little.  Maybe it’s foolish under the circumstances, but she doesn’t want to tell her friends about the circumstances of her exile.  She’s been enjoying their friendship too much.

She grips her fingers in Valda’s fur to steady herself as they keep going.  He’s almost big enough for her to ride on, so she feels alright about leaning against him a little.  He’s growling low in his throat, and Sereda wonders if he knows, somehow.

They find Lord Dace, fighting off deepstalkers.  She can see his surprise as they join the fight, and that surprise only grows when they’re done with the fight and she takes her helmet off.

“Lady Aeducan?” Lord Dace asks.

“It’s just Sereda now,” she says.

“You’re supposed to be dead.  I heard the rumors, of course, but I assumed they were just that,” Lord Dace says.  “What are you doing here?  You can’t have survived down here this long, and with these companions...”

“I found the Grey Wardens,” Sereda says.  “This is my fellow Grey Warden, Alistair, and our friend, Zevran.  I need you to give Lady Dace permission to vote for Bhelen in the Assembly.”

Lord Dace squints at her.  “And why would  _ you  _ want me to do that?”

“Because I need the dwarves’ support to raise an army to end this Blight, and to do that, Orzammar needs a king,” Sereda says, raising her chin defiantly.

“And you’re supporting Bhelen over Harrowmont?  I must say, I am surprised you’re even here after the, ah, unfortunate events the day of your commission,” Lord Dace says, raising an eyebrow.  “You’re here for revenge?  Or to take over?”

“My duties brought me here.  I would have rather stayed away, I assure you,” Sereda says politely.  She knows how to deflect the comments of the nobility, how to hold herself so Lord Dace knows that she doesn’t care.  This is what she was raised for.

“My House has already pledged to vote for Harrowmont,” Lord Dace says.

“Yes, but you might not profit from that as much as you suspect,” Sereda says, handing him the documents.  “Lady Dace wants your permission to change her vote to support Bhelen.”

Lord Dace looks through the documents.  “I will discuss this matter with the deshyr.”

“And tell her to vote for Bhelen?” Sereda asks, to be certain.  

“Yes,” Lord Dace says.  “Bhelen will have our vote.  I can’t believe that Harrowmont double crossed us like this.”

“Thank you for your time, Lord Dace,” Sereda says.

Lord Dace starts to leave, but pauses.  “Why are you  _ really  _ supporting Bhelen’s claim to the throne?  I’m sure that Harrowmont would welcome your support.”

“For Orzammar and for the Grey Wardens,” Sereda says steadily.  

That makes Lord Dace scoff disbelievingly.

“Don’t tell me, then.  I understand.  You are more underhanded than I ever suspected.  The Aeducan shines through, despite your time spent on the surface,” Lord Dace says.  

“Will you be okay, getting back to Orzammar without me?” Sereda asks, maintaining her composure.  His opinion of her is unimportant and she makes sure her body language reflects that.  “Or do you require assistance?”

“I will be fine,” Lord Dace says.

When he’s gone, she turns regretfully to Alistair and Zevran.  “I think I probably owe you an explanation.  I had hoped to get into and out of Orzammar without any of the circumstances of my exile coming to light, but I don’t think that’ll be possible now.”  She knows she should have done this earlier, but she didn’t want to. 

“You don’t owe us anything,” Alistair says.

“If you’re going to be in Orzammar, you’ll find out anyway.  I’d rather you hear what happened from me than from rumors,” Sereda says.  “Even the official record isn’t right.”

“Okay,” Zevran says, nodding.  “Tell us.”

Sereda inhales deeply.  She’s spent the last few months aggressively trying to forget what happened on the day of her commission and hasn’t told anyone anything, beyond that she didn’t want to go back to Orzammar.  Of course, they had to come eventually.

“You both know that I was raised in Orzammar and left under some unfavorable circumstances,” Sereda says.  “Before my exile, I was Princess Sereda Aeducan, middle child of King Endrin Aeducan, sister to the heir, Trian Aeducan.”

“A princess,” Alistair interrupts, raising his eyebrows.  “You were a princess?  Why didn’t you say anything when you found out I was Maric’s son?”

“Because I didn’t want to explain what happened.  I’m sorry,” Sereda says.  “I had two brothers- Trian, my older brother, and Bhelen, my younger brother.  On the night of my commission, Bhelen came to tell me that Trian was plotting to kill me out of jealousy.  While Trian was the heir Father had named, I was more popular with the deshyrs.  Thus, I could have become queen instead of him because dwarves elect their kings and queens.”

“Ah, so you murdered your brother.  My dear Warden, there is no shame in that,” Zevran assures her.

“She didn’t murder her brother!  You didn’t kill your brother, right?” Alistair says, looking between them desperately.  His faith in her would make her smile if she was in the mood.

“No, I didn’t.  It was a very important day for me, and I decided to wait for Trian to make his move.  I can- could- best Trian in one on one combat, and he was too prideful for something sneaky like poison.  The next time I saw Trian, he was dead,” Sereda says, voice tight.  “The soldiers who were with me said I had killed him.  The only person who told the truth was my second, Gorim, and he was deemed untrustworthy because of his loyalty to me.  Bhelen manipulated the Assembly into executing me, leaving him as the heir and the only Aeducan in the running for the throne.”

“That does explain why people seem so surprised by the fact that you’re not dead,” Zevran notes.  “It sounds as if your people are extraordinarily bad at executions, luckily for us.”

“Usually being locked in the Deep Roads with just a sword and nothing else works pretty well, but Duncan and the other Grey Wardens were there.  They let me come with them to Ostagar, and I think you know what happened after that,” Sereda says.

“And this is some other Bhelen that we’re helping, right?  Not the Bhelen who tried to have you killed,” Alistair says.  “Because it seems really dumb to try to help someone who tried to kill you because he might try  _ again _ .”

Sereda shakes her head.  “No, I think we should help my brother, who, yes, arranged for my death.  He’s a pragmatist and right now, he has nothing to gain by killing me, so I don’t think he’ll try again.”

“That’s not the most comforting logic I’ve ever heard,” Alistair says.  “I’d rather you not  _ die _ , Sereda.”

“I’m not going to die.  I’m going to put Bhelen on the throne and then squeeze every soldier out of him for our fight against the archdemon,” Sereda says firmly.  “Bhelen is easier to manipulate than Harrowmont and he recognizes the importance of the surface to Orzammar’s continued prosperity.”

“She understands the situation better than we do, Alistair,” Zevran says.  For the first time in a long time, she can’t tell what he’s thinking.  “If she wants to support her brother’s claim to the throne, we should support her.”

“Thank you, Zevran,” Sereda says, smiling at him.  

“I just don’t understand why you would want to support him,” Alistair says.  “I mean, he tried to kill you, and he killed your brother.”

“I know,” Sereda says.  “I was there.  It wasn’t fun.  But what we’re doing is bigger than me and my family.  But, uh, while we’re talking about things that Bhelen did that you will find morally reprehensible…”

“What?” Alistair asks, squinting suspiciously at her.

“There’s a rumor that Bhelen killed our father.  I don’t know if it’s true or not.  My father sent me a letter before he died that said that he realized what Bhelen had done and that he regretted letting them execute me.  If  Bhelen thought that Father was going to name a different heir, I find it very likely that he would have killed him,” Sereda says, heart thudding.  

All of her calm composure from earlier has dissipated.  Now she’s not talking to nobles that she has to keep distance from.  Somehow, both Zevran and Alistair have made it impossible for her keep the proper emotional distance from them.  Their opinion of her  _ matters _ .  Normally, that’s not a source of stress for her, but everything here is so backwards and complicated.

“What?  So, he killed your brother and your father, and tried to kill you?” Alistair asks with a disbelieving laugh.  “I hope your mother has a guard or an army.”

“My mother is dead,” Sereda says, looking up at him.  “And, no, it wasn’t Bhelen.  Unless he killed her when he was five.  I don’t think that happened.”

“Oh…  I’m sorry,” Alistair says.  “I didn’t, uh, realize.”

“It’s okay.  I don’t really remember her,” Sereda says with a carefully casual shrug.  

“Should we return to Orzammar?” Zevran asks with an edge in his voice.  “Or should we ask the beautiful Grey Warden more questions about her deceased family members?”

After that, Alistair doesn’t seem keen on questioning her decision to ally with Bhelen, presumably more because he’s worried about bringing up something else unfortunate than because he wholeheartedly agrees with her choices.  

Zevran doesn’t say anything as they walk back through the Deep Roads.  He does walk beside her, arm brushing against hers.  It’s literally impossible to feel through their armor; he’s just a gentle rustling noise.  Still comforting, though.

“This is where I found Trian,” Sereda says softly when they cross over by the place again.  

She doesn’t pause this time, doesn’t falter.  Just tells them what happened and keeps going.  There’s an emotional distance there for now.  Given that they’ll have to talk to Bhelen, she’s under no illusion that that’ll last.

 It doesn’t take much longer for them to reach the opening to Orzammar.  

“See?” Sereda says, trying for smug lightheartedness.  “My stone sense is flawless.”

Zevran laughs lightly, sticking close beside her.  “They are not going to believe us at camp.  Truly, the most unbelievable thing that I’ve witnessed.”

“I’ll back you up,” Alistair assures them.  “Everyone will know that you navigated us through the Deep Roads.”

“Just wait,” Sereda says.  “Knowing Bhelen, we’ll end up there again.  Deeper than before.”

“Great,” Alistair says darkly.  “More dark, scary darkspawn tunnels.”

“I’m sure that Valda will be more than happy to keep you safe,” Zevran says.

Valda woofs, and Zevran chuckles at him.

* * *

“Hello, Bhelen,” Sereda says when they’re finally brought before him.  “Making me run around Orzammar is no way to greet your sister.”

“I thought that you might be here to kill me, so I thought a little test was in order.  Given your heavily armed retinue, you still might be,” Bhelen counters.  

“I don’t think you’re one to talk, Bhelen.  Tell me, truthfully, did you kill Father?  Or just break his heart and kill him slowly?” Sereda asks, stepping forward and giving Valda a pat so he’ll stay put.  

“Being king is stressful, Sereda.  Father was old.  Who knows what did it?” Bhelen says.  

“Either way you’re the one who did it, but I just want to know how.  I’m not going to tell anyone, Bhelen.  I’m a casteless surface dwarf now, anyway, so I’m barely a person by Orzammar’s standards.  And no one would believe a human and an elf over an Aeducan,” Sereda says.  “You’d be confessing to an empty room.  Please, just tell me.”

“If it makes you feel better, I just gave him a little push.  He was dying and I just… helped,” Bhelen says, just a trace of bitterness in his voice.  “He was in such pain, by the end, that it was a mercy, really.”

Sereda grits her teeth and nods.  She had suspected as much.  All she had wanted was confirmation.  “What else do you need to capture the Assembly?” 

“The Carta has only gotten stronger since your… departure,” Bhelen says.  “Its leader has forgotten her place.  Kill her and weaken the Carta.”

“Can’t take care of it yourself?” Sereda says teasingly, just short of mocking.  

“The Assembly is in deeper disarray than it seems on the surface, and I’d rather risk the lives of you and your companions than my own people,” Bhelen says.  

“Oh, Bhelen,” Sereda says, shaking her head.  Her back is so straight that she’s just barely looking down at him.  “You kill Trian, you kill Father, and you try to kill me, but you still need me to do the work to take the throne for you.  You killed us and achieved  _ nothing _ .  Sacrifice is pointless if you don’t gain anything.  I hope you at least spoke well at their funerals.”

It must’ve angered him even before she showed up.  With her standing before him, confident, unbowed, and unimpressed, it must anger him even more.

“I could whip up support by myself, but I’m not going to deprive myself of useful tools,” Bhelen says calmly.  

But his hands are folded behind his back, and Sereda would bet they’re both fists.  The thought makes her smile.  Good, he should be as upset as she is.  He murdered their family and still got to say a proper goodbye to them while she was busy fighting for her life.

“Do you think Trian would have had this much trouble?” Sereda takes another step towards him, goading him.  “You wouldn’t have this problem if you had calculated better when you devised this plan.  If you had framed Trian for my murder and gotten him exiled, there would have been fewer rumors, Father never would have doubted you, and you would be sitting here negotiating with my friend here as a crowned king, not as a needy little brother.”  She clicks her tongue mockingly.  “That was such an oversight, Bhelen.”

“I considered it, but there are some flaws to that plan.  They wouldn’t believe that Trian could kill you face to face like that, and he was too rigidly honorable to kill you sneakily, especially since you had never made an open move to take the crown from him,” Bhelen says heatedly.  

Sereda laughs despite herself and the tension between them dissolves for just a second.  It’s like they’re brother and sister again.  “Trian and his damn honor. I think, even if he wasn’t already dead, the shame of having a casteless, surface dwarf for a sister would kill him.  Which one of us do you think would upset him the most?  The surface dwarf or the brother who killed him?”

Bhelen pauses for a moment, considering.  It’s a surreal conversation to be having with her one remaining family member, but part of her wants a brother back so badly.  “You.  Sure, what I did wasn’t  _ honorable _ , but you’re the one who’s dishonored.  Appearances mattered the most to Trian.  And sister, appearance-wise you’re in a sorry state right now.”

Sereda nods in agreement.  “They did, once he became the heir.  It made him an excellent politician and a terrible brother.”

“It did,” Bhelen agrees.

“He would be so upset at me for holding a grudge, though,” Sereda says, shaking her head.  A hollow laugh forces its way out of her throat.  “Trian would be more mad at me for not caring about our House than you, for killing two important members of House Aeducan.”

“Why are you helping me, if not for our House?” Bhelen asks.

The tension between them snaps back into being as Sereda invades Bhelen’s personal space.

“I know your politics, Bhelen, and they’re what Orzammar needs.  Harrowmont will only adopt more isolationist policies, which would be disastrous in the long term.  But you should know that if you screw over the Grey Wardens the way you did our family, you won’t survive it.  I’ll kill you myself.  If they want to call me kinslayer, I might as well earn the title,” Sereda says. “You’re the only kin I have left.”

“I’m not going to betray you,” Bhelen says with a sneer.  “There’d be nothing for me to gain by double crossing you now, provided you stay quiet about the day of your commission.  If you try to prove your innocence, there will be consequences.”

“Don’t make threats you can’t keep.  It’s poor form.  When you’re king, the Assembly will see it as weakness,” Sereda scolds.  She’s not going to put him on the throne just so he can lose it through his own idiocy.  “We’ll take care of the Carta.  We’ll all see you soon, brother.”

She turns on her heel and strides out of the room.  Sereda whistles for Valda to follow her, patting his head.  The two men fall behind in line behind her, silent as they make their way out of the palace.

In the street, she can’t keep her hands still.  Her fingers are twitching like they want to reach out and strangle Bhelen.  She’s bouncing on the balls of her feet, unable to settle properly.  The euphoria is coursing through her like it does after a proper battle.  

At least she’s sure that she’s won this one.

Sereda has to stare down an innkeeper to secure them rooms, but she manages to do it without forking over all their gold.  She puts it down to still riding high after her confrontation with Bhelen.

It’s good to have a real bath.  Sereda stretches out in the tub, loving that she fits in it right.  She loves that she fits all the furniture in her room right.  Everything feels right for this bright, shining second and she has the largest grin on her face as she sinks into the warm water.

“My dear Warden, you have surprised me again,” Zevran’s voice comes from the bedroom.

“You can come in here.  I’m just taking a bath,” Sereda says.

Zevran appears in the doorway as soon as she’s done speaking.  He takes off his shirt and squats beside the bathtub.  His hand trails in the warm water, not quite touching her.

“I didn’t realize you had so much… anger inside of you,” Zevran comments.  “You’re always so kind, even to the people who try to kill you.  Especially to them.  It’s unnerving.” 

“He killed my brother.  He killed my father,” Sereda offers by way of explanation.  “He killed the man I thought he was.  I had a family, once, and we were happy together until Bhelen destroyed it all.  Bhelen won’t take anything else from me.”

“I think Alistair is going to have nightmares, poor thing,” Zevran says, fingers still splashing in the water.  “And I’m going to spend the rest of my life ensuring you never get that mad at me.”

“I won’t,” Sereda assures him.  She reaches up to stroke his face with a wet hand, watching as the water rolls down his cheek.  “For one thing, the only family you could possibly kill is Bhelen, and that wouldn’t upset me as much as it should.”

Zevran hums and it sounds like an approval.  

“But, you know, don’t kill Bhelen because we’re supporting him for king,” Sereda quickly adds.  “And I’d want to do it myself, if he double crossed us.”

Zevran laughs gently.  “I only use my skills when directed by you now, do not worry.”  He examines her a little closer.  “Could you kill him?”

“Yes, I could kill Bhelen,” Sereda doesn’t hesitate or flinch.  “Honestly, part of me wishes I could do it now and ignore the consequences.  Just a small part.”

“I believe you,” Zevran says.  “If you had told me this yesterday, I would not have, but after seeing you today, I do.”

Sereda watches as a droplet of water trails over his perfect cheekbone, down to his jaw, before running down his neck.  

“I’m moderately embarrassed for him.  If you slaughter your whole family, you should at least get what you want out of it and not have to rely on your dead sister to do it for you,” Sereda says, shrugging.  “Like I said in the throne room, he should have framed Trian for my murder.  His excuses were bullshit.  He could have sold it if he faked a few documents.”

“This ruthless side of you is… intriguing, dear Warden,” Zevran says.  “In my wildest fantasies, I never could have had anticipated it.”

“Do you have a lot of wild fantasies about me?” Sereda asks, raising her eyebrows.  

“I think you know the answer to that,” Zevran says.

“Someday, you have to tell me about these fantasies of yours, Zevran,” Sereda says, grinning at him.  “All of them.  We’ll have to see what we can do about bringing them to life.”

Before he can reply, she leans up to capture his lips in a hard kiss.  She bites his lip as he cups her face, getting her face wet.  

“I’m busy taking a bath,” Sereda murmurs when they pull apart.  

They’re both panting hard and he’s giving her the look that means he wants her, now.  She wants him, too, but she also wants to tease him.  The night is young.

Zevran chuckles.  “Ah, your ruthless side comes out again.”

Sereda kisses his damp cheek.  “But you’re enjoying it.”

“True,” Zevran concedes. 

He rocks back on his heels, watching her as she continues her bath.  She doesn’t have to look over at him to know his eyes are dark with lust.  

Sereda doesn’t rush her bath at all, just relaxes.  The steam from the warm water feels good, seeping into her skin.  

When she’s done, Sereda stands up.  Sure enough, Zevran is watching her hungrily.  It makes her ache between her legs and she takes him by the hand, pulling him into her bedroom.  

“Paying for three rooms continues to be a waste,” Zevran says softly.  

“We really should just put Valda in his own room,” Sereda says.

Valda whimpers and looks up from the corner where he’s curled up.  

“You sound Ferelden,” Zevran teases.

Sereda pushes him gently onto the bed before climbing on top of him.  She lets her voice take on just a little of the edge she had earlier.  “I’m not Ferelden.  I’m from Orzammar.”

Zevran grins up at her, hands resting on her waist.  “I can tell.”

“You’re still wearing pants,” Sereda comments.  

He slides his hands down to her waist, urging her to scoot forward.  “That doesn’t matter for what I want to do first.”

Sereda moans happily as she does what he bids.  “I like the way you think.”

She presses one hand to the headboard to keep her balance while she threads her fingers through his long, soft hair.  This is how to start a night.

* * *

Sereda kisses Zevran’s shoulder in the morning, not surprised she’s the first one awake.  They had a long night, but she’s got so much tension thrumming through her that she’s wide awake early.  She gets up, gets dressed, and whistles softly to Valda to get him to follow her down to the main part of the inn.  

Sitting in the corner, she eats her breakfast, feeding bits of meat to Valda under the table.  She focuses on her meal, not on the looks people are throwing her way.  It doesn’t matter.

Alistair comes down the stairs and Sereda waves him over.  He nods at her, orders his food, and comes to sit across from her.

“So…  Yesterday was.  Intense,” Alistair says pretty much as soon as he sits down.

“This is why I put off coming to Orzammar.  Although if we had gotten here before Father died, he would’ve honored the treaties without argument.  It would have been very different,” Sereda says.  “So I’m sorry that my own problems made this more complicated than it had to be.”

“I’m not worried about the treaties right now, Sereda,” Alistair says, hand resting on her arm.  “I’m worried about you.  You threatened to kill your brother yesterday.”

“Only if he betrays us, which he won’t,” Sereda says.  “He has a sense of self preservation, and the dwarves appreciate what the Grey Wardens do.  Betraying us would be an unpopular move and wouldn’t gain him anything.”

“I’ve just never seen this side of you.  When Zevran tried to murder us, you didn’t hesitate to let him join us instead of killing him.  Everywhere we’ve been, you’ve always been compassionate and understanding under even the worst circumstances,” Alistair says, frowning.  “Yesterday, you were ruthless.  More than that, you were  _ terrifying _ .”

“Bhelen took everything I had from me- my caste, my House, my home.  He killed my brother and my father.  If his plan had gone off perfectly, I’d be a corpse in the Deep Roads,” Sereda says, voice hard.  “If he’s not properly cowed, he could hurt you and Zevran if he thinks it’ll benefit him.  I’m not going to let that happen.  I’m not going to let him take anyone else from me.”

“We can take care of ourselves,” Alistair says, reaching over to squeeze her arm.  “You know that, Sereda.  We’ve managed to come this far, after all.”

Sereda leans forward, keeping her voice low.  “When I first was forced to the surface, I was clueless about what was happening.  It wasn’t like I had time to prepare.  If Duncan had wanted, he could have taken advantage of that cluelessness.  Ancestors, even after Ostagar, there were still so many things I was clueless about, so many ways you could have manipulated me if you were that kind of man.  You and Zevran are just as clueless down here, except you don’t realize it, and I don’t want my brother or someone else with an agenda to exploit that.  Politics in Orzammar are a deadly affair, Alistair, and we’re right in the middle of it.”

“Then why not help Harrowmont?  We can prove your innocence, too,” Alistair suggests.  “That will weaken Bhelen’s position, right?”

Sereda sighs.  In some ways, it’s a tempting offer.  “I don’t need my innocence, but Orzammar needs a strong leader like Bhelen.  He’ll modernize Orzammar and do away with certain outdated aspects of our culture.  I know his politics, and I have leverage over him that I don’t have over Harrowmont.  There’s no sure way to prove what actually happened on the day of my commission.”

Alistair shakes his head.  “This doesn’t feel right, Sereda.”

“Welcome to Orzammar,” Sereda says glumly.  “There are no good choices here and no third options.”

“This is not what I expected,” Alistair says.  “Like, at all.”

Sereda smiles.   “It's home.  This is where I was raised.”  

“I feel kind of sorry for you,” Alistair says.

She wonders what kind of person could come out of a place like this.  Could she be a good person?  Was Bhelen’s fall inevitable?  Would she do something like that one day?  Would she betray Zevran and Alistair and everyone she cares about?  

Before Alistair can question her sudden silence, Zevran appears behind him.  

“Good morning, Grey Wardens!” Zevran says cheerily, sitting next to her.  “I look forward to the surprises the day will bring, after our adventures yesterday.”  

“Dust Town,” Sereda says with a sigh.  “Not somewhere I'm as familiar with as the Diamond Quarter, and not a place I'd underestimate.  On the brightside, no one there will know me personally, so hopefully there will be fewer people who will be offended by my presence.”

“No more people growling kinslayer at you?” Alistair asks hopefully.  He had been more upset by it than she had, honestly.  At least after the first time.  

“Just a few,” Sereda says, shrugging.  “I’m hoping they’ll just gawk at the both of you and Valda.  Ignore me completely.”  

When they leave the inn, they’re confronted by Harrowmont’s second.  Sereda could think of his name, but she doesn’t want to.

“You’re supporting Bhelen for the throne?  The Aeducans have even less honor than I thought,” he practically sneers at her.  “Your family lies dead because of him and everyone knows it.”

She can feel both Alistair and Zevran tense behind her, but she just stands firm.  Chin up, haughty in the way only a princess can be.  Even if she’s not a princess, she remembers how to be one.

“I’m not an Aeducan anymore,” Sereda says, despite her demeanor.  “I’ve been erased from the memories, so I can’t possibly be doing this as an Aeducan.  I’m doing this because Bhelen is the better choice for king.”

“Endrin would be disappointed.  Towards his end, he came to support Lord Harrowmont,” the man says.  “Lord Harrowmont was Endrin’s choice for next king.”

“You presume much,” Sereda says.  “But it’s  _ King _ Endrin and  _ Prince  _ Bhelen to you.  Now move.”

“You still have a chance to do King Endrin’s will.  Destroy the Carta in Harrowmont’s name, and he will give the Grey Wardens all the help they need,” the man says.  “There’s no need to put your traitorous brother on the throne.  Don’t let Bhelen poison the rest of Orzammar.”

“I will do my own will: what’s best for Orzammar and the Grey Wardens.  That’s not Lord Harrowmont.  It doesn’t matter what my father thought,” Sereda says.  Her unwavering loyalty to her father died the day he let her be executed.  “I’d advise you to stay out of my way.”

The man snorts, but moves, and they walk to Dust Town without further incident.  It’s kind of nice, actually.  The Diamond Quarter was her home, so being there reminds her of everything she’s lost.  But while she snuck down to Dust Town a few times, it wasn’t home.  

She sees an old beggar sitting in the center of the main square and decides to approach her.  Hopefully, she’s seen something that they could use.

“For a sovereign, could you tell me about the Carta?  Specifically, how to find them,” Sereda asks without preamble.  She knows that she could get the information for much cheaper, but the woman needs money more than she does.

“What's a nice girl like you looking for the Carta for?” she asks.

Sereda snorts, grinning at her.  “I’m not a nice girl.  Don’t worry.”

“If I tell you, they could hurt me,” she says.

“If you tell me, I’ll kill their leader, and they’ll be in disarray.  They’ll have bigger things to worry about,” Sereda promises.

“I want to see those thugs go down,” she says approvingly.  “There are many doors into the Carta’s hideout.  The doors with little holes.  Jarvia uses a finger bone totem with a special symbol scratched into it.  Find a totem, find a door, and you’ll have your access.”

“Thank you,” Sereda says, handing over two sovereigns just because.  

“No, no.  Thank  _ you _ ,” she says, jangling the gold just a bit.  “Try not to get killed.”

Sereda nods.  “Will do.”

She turns to face the rest of the group and they move to a secluded corner, away from potentially prying ears.

“So… anyone willing to cut off a finger?” Alistair jokes.  

“Ah, but we don’t know what the symbol is,” Zevran says.

“ _ That’s _ the flaw you find in the plan?” Alistair says.  

“We do have plenty of fingers between us,” Zevran says, shrugging.

Alistair is looking at her like he always does, like he thinks she has every answer.  It’s too much, sometimes, and she has to look away.

“If we spend enough time in Dust Town, we’ll run into a member of the Carta.  We get the token from them,” Sereda says.  

It’s not the best plan ever, but it’ll work.  They poke around Dust Town and meet a few people, none of whom seem remotely like part of the Carta.  But then they enter an abandoned house and some thugs decide to jump them.  Luckily, one of them has a finger bone totem on them.  

“Hopefully, this is it.  Or else Orzammar fashion sure has changed,” Sereda says as she pockets it.  “Shall we go take out the Carta?”

Valda barks in agreement.  

“Well, we wouldn't want to disappoint Valda,” Zevran says, scratching the mabari’s ear affectionately.  

There’s a warm feeling in her chest whenever Zevran treats Valda like one of the team, especially because so many other people treat Valda as a smelly annoyance.  The warm feeling is something that she doesn’t like to examine too closely.  It’s something she only feels around Zevran.  

“Let’s get to it, then,” Sereda says.  

They had scoped out a few potential doors while looking for the totem, so they know where to go.  She slips the totem into the hole and waits.

Sure enough, the door opens, and they slip inside.  All seems to be going well until someone gruffly asks them for a password.

The request is, frankly, ridiculous.  She’s accompanied by an elf, a human, and a dog.  It’s not an incredibly common sight anywhere in Orzammar.  

“Oh, you know,” Sereda says, coughing and trying to mumble something convincing.

“Get them!” 

Yeah, she saw that coming.

“You should leave the lying to me in the future,” Zevran says as the battle begins.

“Okay, to be fair,” Sereda argues as she swipes at a guy’s legs, “someone would have figured out that we’re not all dwarves eventually.  Valda is a dog, for one thing.  And you and Alistair are terribly tall.  Neither of you look like you could grow a decent beard, either.  We were never going to do this stealthily.”

“I’ll have you know that I  _ can _ grow a beard!” Alistair interjects as he brings his sword down.  “I just choose not to.  You know, for secret, very valid reasons.”

“Yes, Alistair,” Sereda and Zevran say in unison, sharing a bemused look.

Conversation ceases as the battle really begins.  Sereda finds she’s not really paying much attention to the battle itself, but thinking about her father instead.  Harrowmont’s second mentioned him and now she can’t get him out of her head.  Her father who, in the end, was just as treacherous as Bhelen.

One of the worst kept secrets in Orzammar was that King Endrin played favorites in everything, including his children.  And she, of course, was his favorite.  She had always been the charismatic one and the one with the most natural talent for fighting, talent she had worked hard to hone.  Her brothers had never complained much; Father had more than enough love for all of them, after all.  

Yet, when she was framed for murder, he had refused to do anything to intervene, even to save her life.  At the time, she had hoped it was because he worried about abusing his power as king.  Or maybe he really believed she had killed Trian and wanted the woman who killed his son to be brought to justice.  The further she got from Orzammar, the less likely that seemed to her, when she stayed up late thinking about everything that had happened since her commission.

And then, he sent her that accursed letter where he confirmed her worst fears.  His thoughts were only for the appearance of House Aeducan.  It doesn’t even make sense!  Either way an Aeducan killed another for the sake of the throne.  If he thought she was guilty, it would have hurt less and made more sense to her.

Wordlessly, painfully, she screams in frustration as she shoves a sword into some dwarf’s eye socket.  She’s angrier at Father than at Bhelen, as twisted as it is.  At least she somewhat understands why Bhelen did what he did.  It was wrong and terrible, but she understands, at least enough to be able to breathe.  

But when she thinks of her father turning away from her when she needed him, her brother’s body still warm between them, it makes her blood boil with rage.  He abandoned her when she needed him the most.  He was willing to let her die for no real reason.  

She realizes that she’s standing over Jarvia’s dead body, gripping her swords like her life depends on it.  Both Zevran and Alistair are watching her and she sheathes her swords with forced casualness.  Like she’s fine, like everything is fine.

“Is everyone alright?” Sereda asks.

“Zevran’s got a laceration on his arm,” Alistair says.

“I think Alistair got hit on the head.  Hard,” Zevran shoots back.

Sereda wants to snort and joke like she usually does about the two of them tattling to her about each other’s injuries, but she doesn’t have the heart to do it.  The tattling is good, though, because otherwise they might “accidentally” forget to mention their injuries.  That’s the nice thing about Valda; he’s a huge baby about getting hurt, so she never has to worry about him trying to hide anything.

“Is it bad?” Sereda asks sternly.  

“No,” Zevran says.  “It’s hardly worth noting.”

“My head is fine,” Alistair adds.  “More than ready to report to Bhelen.”

“We’ll report to Bhelen in the morning,” Sereda says.  “For now, I just want to get cleaned up.”

They follow silently behind her, back through Dust Town and to the Commons.  The nice part about being covered with blood and various bits of dead person is that no one has the gall to approach her.  It’s a good change.

“You’re coming with me,” Sereda murmurs to Zevran after they’ve all said their goodnights.

“Of course,” Zevran says, walking next to her to her bedroom.

When they reach the bedroom, Sereda whistles low and Valda goes to his corner to start cleaning himself off happily.  Then, she directs Zevran to sit down on the bench.  It’s dwarf-sized, so he’s curled up a little bit, and the sight makes her smile tiredly.  Although, he’s never entirely comfortable in the mostly-human sized world they travel through, either, so maybe it’s not fair to laugh.

She takes off her armor and finds her kit that’s stocked with medical supplies before returning to him.  After examining the injury, Sereda looks up at him exasperatedly.  

“I thought that you said it was hardly worth noting,” Sereda says, shaking her head.

“It’s not,” Zevran protests.  

Sereda helps him take his armor off and starts to clean the injury.  He can do it himself, but they both prefer it when she does it.

“I keep telling you to let me buy you better armor,” Sereda says.  “No one else has any problem with it and if this happens when we’re fighting darkspawn, you’re done for.”

Zevran shrugs.  “I prefer the lighter armor.  It lets me move more easily.  Besides, I enjoy having you tend to me.”

They move through the familiar argument as Sereda cleans and examines Zevran’s wound.  Every time he gets hurt, they argue, and at this point, she knows he’s not going to change his ways.  She doesn’t really want to change him, but the arguing soothes her as she stitches his skin back together.  

His voice wraps around her, warming her up from the inside out.  She’s pretty sure that Zevran could say anything, and she would find it relaxing.  Couple that with the sweet curve of his smile as he teases her and the fond way he looks at her, and she finds herself smiling wide at him, even if she’s mad at him for downplaying his injury.

After, they bathe together, figuring they might as well clean up.

“Say what you will about humans, but I do like that they have much larger bathtubs,” Zevran says from underneath her.

Their hands are roaming over each other’s bodies.  Ostensibly, they’re cleaning each other off, but it also serves as a good excuse to feel each other up.  She loves the way he feels under his fingers: smooth and lovely and electric.  Like a storm, pretending to be mortal.

“I dunno.  There are worse things than being in close quarters with you,” Sereda says, rocking her hips against him idly.

Zevran groans.  “True.  But I still prefer the larger bathtubs that my legs fit in well.”

She laughs and kisses him, glad that he’s here with her.  The rage that she felt earlier has lessened, but it’s not gone.  It’s just buried, contained in some deep part of her.  

“My dearest Warden,” Zevran murmurs.  “Something was wrong earlier.”

“Everything is wrong here,” Sereda replies.  “It’s Orzammar politics and we’re crowning my brother’s killer king.  There’s really nothing right about that.”

“Something… else,” Zevran says.  “I heard that scream.”

Sereda nuzzles her face against his neck, mostly because she doesn’t want to look at his face.  There’s a hint of worry there that seems out of place.  

“I’m fine,” Sereda says.  

“I just don’t want to see Bhelen get under your skin, my dear Warden,” Zevran says.  One hand snakes its way up to card through her hair.  

“He’s not going to get under my skin.  The scream had nothing to do with Bhelen,” Sereda says. 

“Then what?” Zevran asks.

“My father,” Sereda murmurs.

“Ah,” Zevran says.  “Fathers are not an area that I am familiar with, but you may continue regardless.”

“We were really close when I was growing up.  I was the source of so much pride.”  Sereda pulls back a little.  “He could have intervened.  I was standing over my brother’s body,  _ pleading  _ my innocence, and he refused to even give me a real chance to defend myself.  Father was king, so he could have.  He sent me a letter about it, later, and I just…” She shakes her head.  “I don’t want to talk about him.  Actually, all I really want to do is scream at him, but he’s dead.”

Zevran watches her with understanding, nodding a little.  He strokes her cheeks tenderly, brushing down over her nose and jawline, too.  

“You don’t have to scream at him,” Zevran finally says.  “They all wanted you to die, and yet, here you are, alive and more powerful than any of them.  You’re going to decide who is king here.  I suspect that when we reach the Landsmeet, you’ll also decide who will be king of Ferelden.  Trust me, picking rulers brings you much more power than being a ruler and comes with fewer restrictions.  It is the Antivan Crows’ specialty, after all.”

“You’re right,” Sereda says.  “I never thought I’d want power, but it helps when trying to stop a Blight.”

And if the Antivan Crows ever come for Zevran in any kind of force, she’s sure that she’ll enjoy having kings in her debt.  Zevran isn’t someone that she’s willing to lose, unless he wants to leave her.

“What did you want?” Zevran asks, tilting his head.

“It’s stupid, but I used to just wish I had been able to save Trian.  He would have made a terrible king- and he was a terrible brother sometimes, most of the time once he became the heir- but I still could have saved him if  had just seen Bhelen for what he was.  Not without making him hate me, but,” Sereda shrugs.  “I can living with people hating me, even Trian.”

“You’re not responsible for Bhelen’s plans, dear Warden.  Only your own,” Zevran says.

Sereda smiles glumly.  “I’m going to put him on the throne, knowing what he’s done.  What terrible things he might do in the future.  That means at least some of that blood is on my hands, Zevran.  I can’t run away from that.  It would be dishonest.”

Zevran’s hands have slid down to her shoulders, thumbs rubbing gently into her skin.  “Can you live with that?”

“Does it matter?” Sereda asks.  She has to do it no matter what.

Zevran’s face suddenly looks conflicted.  “Can you?” he repeats.  

“Yes,” Sereda says. “I can do what I have to.  Loghain will pay and the Blight will end before it begins.  That’s what matters.”

His face smooths back out and he squeezes her shoulders.  “Perhaps I could do something to ease your troubles for the night.”

Sereda cups his face.  She wants to tell him how much he means to her, how much just having him here makes everything so much easier.  Sometimes she worries that he thinks that she only likes to have him around for sex, even though nothing could be further from the truth.  Maybe one day, she’ll be able to find the right words to tell him.  

Instead of saying any of that, she leans forward to kiss him gently.  By now, the water is so cool that it’s not relaxing anymore, but that doesn’t matter as she moves her lips against his. 

“You already have,” Sereda says softly when they pull apart.  “I think it’s time to go to bed.”

They get out of the bathtub and pat each other dry.  When they fall into bed, he kisses her, all slow, gentle care.  She expects him to deepen the kiss, but he doesn’t.  Instead, they just lay next to each other, kissing in her dark bedroom until the exhaustion overcomes her.  

Somehow, she ends up with his arms wrapped around him.  He tucks her head under her chin and presses her tightly against his chest.  She doesn’t mind the pressure, enjoying feeling the rise and fall of his chest.  

Sereda strokes his hands where they’re resting on her belly.  His fingers are ridiculously long and thin, but she knows from firsthand experience just how strong they are.  

The last thing she thinks about before falling asleep is that she wants to run away with Zevran when this is all over.  He’s hinted that he’s interested in staying with her, even when he has other options in the future, and the thought is a warm, bright bloom in her chest when things start to look bad.

* * *

When they all sit down to breakfast, Alistair is watching her.  At first, she wants to glare back at him until she realizes that he’s watching her with concern.  She honestly can’t blame him.  If he wanted to take over as leader, she wouldn’t blame him either.

“I’m okay, Alistair,” Sereda finally says.  “You don’t have to fret over me.”

“I’m not fretting!  Okay, maybe a little, but just because you’re my friend and I’m worried about you,” Alistair says.

“I’m okay,” she repeats, smiling reassuringly.  “I just want to get Bhelen crowned king so we can finish up our business here.”

Sereda can’t believe that she actually wants to get back to the surface, with its stupid sky and too big everything.  The thought of actually wanting to leave Orzammar for the surface troubles her, but she’s troubled enough already, so she shoves the feeling aside.  

“Do you think we’ve done enough?” Alistair asks.

“I have a feeling probably not.  I’ve never seen the Assembly so divided, and I mean, I’ve seen the Assembly pretty divided before,” Sereda says.  “This isn’t your standard election to the kingship, so Bhelen will need an edge.”

“Great,” Alistair says, shaking his head.  “You know, I thought human politics were a pain in the butt, but this…” 

“At least we’re not on the brink of armed, open civil war,” Sereda points out.  “Yet.”

“True,” Alistair concedes.  

Zevran stretches contentedly.  “This is why I prefer the Antivan style of politics.  A simple assassination or two, and a leader is found.  Much simpler.”

“If only we could all be so sophisticated,” Alistair says dryly.

Zevran claps his shoulder companionably.  “I’m glad you understand, Alistair!”

“Let’s get going,” Sereda says before they get started arguing with each other.

It’s a quick walk back to the Diamond Quarter and then the palace.  The guard tries to stop them, but Sereda brushes by him without a second glance.  She knows where Bhelen’s room is.

“You know, there are protocols for seeing the king, especially this early in the morning,” Bhelen grumbles, looking up from whatever he’s reading at his desk.

“You’re not king yet, remember?” Sereda says sweetly.  “So.  Jarvia is dead, and the Carta is scrambling.  You’re welcome.”

“Unfortunately, the Assembly is only more divided than ever.  I think that we’re going to need something big,” Bhelen says.  “After all, only one thing could definitely unite the Assembly and the rest of Orzammar.”

Sereda shakes her head.  “Bhelen, there has to be another way.”

“What else could erase all doubts about my worthiness to be king?” Bhelen asks.

“If you hadn’t made this mad grab for power, there wouldn’t be any doubts!  This is the bed you made, Bhelen,” Sereda says.  “Figure out a better way.”

“I didn’t do it for power.  I did it for our House, and I did it for Orzammar,” Bhelen says, getting up to face her.  “Trian would have been a disastrous king.”

“Bullshit.  If this wasn’t about your personal power, we could have worked together to keep Trian off the throne.  Nobody would have died,” Sereda says.  “I was the one who loudly, publicly argued with Trian.  You knew you could have come to me.”

“I know how that would go.  We would work to elect  _ you  _ queen, even though you never wanted it enough to make a good queen.  It would inevitably devolve into chaos because you don’t want to rule; you want to fight.  Orzammar didn’t need a warrior-queen.  I was always the best choice, but no one else would ever see it, not with you and Trian in the way,” Bhelen says bitterly.  “Anyway, it doesn’t matter.  This is the situation we find ourselves in.  Debating the past gets us nowhere.”

“We’re essentially nowhere anyway,” Sereda says, shaking her head.  “You need a better idea.”

Alistair clears his throat.  “Maybe you could fill in us not-dwarves?”

“He wants us to find Paragon Branka.  A Paragon is an Ancestor come to life and who represents the best of our people.  Very few Paragons are crowned, and fewer still are crowned while they’re still alive,” Sereda says, turning to look at him.  “Her favor could sway even the most steadfast Harrowmont supporter.  Unfortunately, no one knows where she is.”

“Do not fear, my beautiful Grey Warden.  I am an expert at tracking people down; I did find you and your companions, after all,” Zevran says.  “I would be pleased to show off my skills in that particular area.  Then, you’ll have enjoyed the full array of my skills.”

“Ah, you must be the one that is staying in my sister’s room,” Bhelen says.

That makes Sereda’s stomach clench unpleasantly.  She hadn’t wanted Bhelen to have any inkling of how important Zevran is to her, but now he’s looking at Zevran with far too much interest.  

“You’re spying on us,” Sereda says flatly, trying not to let her fear show.

“I had to make sure you weren’t plotting against me, Sereda.  My agent left when things became… intimate the first night, I assure you,” Bhelen says.

“Frandlin Ivo?” Sereda guesses.  

“He  _ is  _ my left hand man.  Such a convincing liar, persuading everyone you had killed Trian,” Bhelen says, grinning at her.  He’s made her uncomfortable and he knows it.

“The man always was a pervert.  I’d guess he stayed all night,” Sereda says, suppressing a shudder.  “Let’s get something straight.  My personal life is none of your business, Bhelen.”

“Call me a protective younger brother,” Bhelen says, looking back to Zevran.  “I wouldn’t want to see her mistreated.”

“Perhaps if you hadn’t tried to kill our dear Warden, I would believe it,” Zevran says with an edge in his voice.

“Funny,” Bhelen says dryly.  “I bear your ‘dear Warden’ no ill will.  I only tried to kill her to clear the way to the throne; it was nothing personal.  Indeed, we were quite close growing up, and I mourned her death the most.”

“How touching,” Zevran says.

“Enough,” Sereda says before Bhelen can respond.  

“Sereda-” She’s not letting Bhelen get started.

“Bhelen!” Sereda says firmly.  “ _ Enough _ .  You’ve had your powerplay, let us know that you’re watching us.  So if I see Frandlin or anyone from his House lurking around our inn in the Commons, I’ll know to knock them out.  I owed him one already, anyway.  Now let’s get down to actual business.”

Bhelen is still glaring back at Zevran, and she can imagine the infuriatingly pleased look Zevran is giving Bhelen.  They honestly don’t have time for this.

“Even though Zevran is an excellent tracker, Branka left for the Deep Roads two years ago to try to find out how golems were created.  She might very well be dead.  There’s also the possibility that she has no desire to come back or endorse you because you’re a grade-a nughumper,” Sereda says, trying to get Bhelen’s attention back on her and on his plan.  “I hope you have a backup plan.”

“You wouldn’t like it,” Bhelen says and his smile is all teeth, but at least he’s grinning at her now.  Better her than Zevran  “So I suggest you find a way to make this work, Sereda.  Harrowmont is looking for her, so she must be somewhere.”

“If we do this, if we make you king this way, I want you to do me a personal favor,” Sereda says.

“I’m not going to become some puppet,” Bhelen says.  

“I have better things to do than try to manage Orzammar once I leave,” Sereda says in a bored voice.  “I just want you to restore Gorim’s rights.

“Your old second?” Bhelen asks, raising an eyebrow.

“He did nothing but serve me and our House faithfully, and he got exiled for his trouble,” Sereda says.  “He’s happy topside, but he deserves the choice.”

Bhelen looks almost amused.  “You always did have to fix everything for everyone.  My sweet older sister.  What else do you feel guilty for?  Trian?  Father?  For being alive?”

“Gorim was the one person in Orzammar who kept my confidence and never betrayed me,” Sereda says, swallowing hard because he’s hitting too close to home.  Every breath makes her guilty.  “I know he was just collateral damage to you, but he’s a good man who deserved better than to be cast aside.”

“If that’s what you want, then sure.  Find the Paragon, crown me king, and Gorim’s rights are restored,” Bhelen says.  “You can stop feeling guilty about it now.”

She bites her tongue before she can ask if Bhelen ever feels guilty for everything he’s done.  The answer scares her.  

Sereda sighs.  “He saved my life after you tried to end it.  I owe him for that.”

Bhelen’s face softens.  “I tried to rework and rework my plans so you didn’t have to die.  I really did.  But there was no other way to be sure things would play out properly.”

“Shockingly, that’s not very comforting,” Sereda says, shaking her head.  “Especially since it didn’t even work.”

“That’s all I have,” Bhelen says and the sorrow sounds so cursedly sincere.  “I really didn’t want you to die back then.  I still don’t.”

Sereda steps forward and sighs.  He’s her little brother, and he looks so hurt.  “Then I’ll try to avoid dying tragically in the Deep Roads.  Again.  Getting out of there is a specialty of mine.”  

When Bhelen smiles at her, it takes her back to when they were little kids and he was just her little brother.  They were so happy as kids, just the three of them before Trian became the heir and everything got so difficult.  

“Good,” Belen says firmly.

Sereda shakes her head.  She can’t let him get in her head, but that’s impossible because he’s her little brother.  She tries to keep a list of Bhelen’s crimes running through her head, but it’s so hard.  “You be careful here.  I don’t want to find a missing woman, just to find you’ve already gotten yourself killed.”

“I’m, uh, glad you don’t hate me,” Bhelen says quietly.

“You’re my little brother.  If you try to cross us, I will kill you without hesitation, but I couldn’t hate you,” Sereda says just as softly.  She doesn’t want Alistair and Zevran to overhear her.  “I remember when the three of us were inseparable.”

“The three of us wanted to rule together,” Bhelen murmurs, not quite looking her in the eye.  “We had such big plans when we were young.”

Sereda raises her chin.  “We were stupid.  Stupid in ways that we couldn’t afford to be.”

Maybe that’s why everything ended so messed up.

“I won’t let you down,” Bhelen says.  Suddenly, he steps forward and wraps his arms around her.  “I’m glad that you found the Grey Wardens.”

Sereda stiffens as he hugs her.  The little brother she’s cared for since they were kids and the man who murdered her whole family, spied on her, and would discard if in a second if it would help him are both hugging her.  All she can do is stand there.  After a minute, she pushes him back a little.  

“I’ve got work to do, Bhelen,” Sereda says tiredly. 

He looks hurt, but she can’t find it in her to care.  “Atrast tunsha, sister.”   _ May you always find your way in the dark _ .

“Don’t do this, Bhelen,” Sereda says.  “Nothing can erase what you did and things aren’t suddenly okay just because I managed to survive.”

She refuses to look at either of her friends when she turns back around.  Sereda walks back through the halls of the royal palace of Orzammar, back through the home where she grew up.  All three of them ran through these halls, playing carefreely together.  They were going to have the whole world.  That was so long ago, but she swears she can still hear the laughter bouncing around them.  It makes her chest hurt.

“If either of you don’t want to go on what I’m sure will be an ultimately fruitless search of the Deep Roads for Paragon Branka, I understand,” Sereda says once they’re out in the Diamond Quarter proper.  “She’s been gone for two years.  If she’s dead, there might not be much to find.”

“Sereda, we’re not abandoning you,” Alistair says, shaking his head.  “Or at least, I’m not.”

“And allow someone else to watch your beautiful backside?  Never,” Zevran says firmly.  

Sereda smiles at both of them, scratching Valda’s ears affectionately.  “Thank you.  Can I, uh, talk to Zevran alone for a second, Alistair?”

“Of course,” Alistair says, looking slightly relieved as he backs away.  She can’t blame him.

“If you wish to have this Frandlin Ivo taken care of, just say the words,” Zevran says idly.

Sereda snorts despite the sick feeling in her stomach.  Some man, ordered by her brother, intruded on intimate moments she shared with Zevran.  She doesn’t know if she feels violated or angry or both.

“I should have seen this coming and taken some kind of precaution,” Sereda says, shaking her head.

Zevran ghosts his fingertips over his cheek before pulling his hand back like her skin is white hot.  “Say the word.”

Sereda shakes her head regretfully.  “I wish I could, but if we start killing Bhelen’s men, he’ll have no choice but to retaliate.”

She only has two people for Bhelen to target, and considering Zevran isn’t actually a Grey Warden, he’s the obvious choice to retaliate against.  

“An accident? I am good at creating accidents,” Zevran says.

“Bhelen would see through that,” Sereda says.  “But thank you for not being mad.”

“You have done nothing wrong, my dear Warden,” Zevran says.  “The fault is entirely with your brother.”

“And you’re still okay with helping Bhelen?” Sereda asks, watching him closely.  He was violated, too, but she knows it’s unlikely that he’ll even mention it.

“I will follow your lead,” Zevran says.  “If you wish to kill Bhelen, I’ll help, and if you want to crown him king, I’ll help, too.”

“What do you want?” Sereda presses.  

Zevran looks angry, just for a second, before pulling on a wide grin.  “A warm bed, and the company of the beautiful Grey Warden before me.  Perhaps the company of the handsome Grey Warden as well, if both Wardens were amenable to such a night. To be at the mercy of two strong Grey Wardens and their stamina sounds most exquisite.”

Sereda throws back her head and laughs.  “I think you’ll have to settle for just me.  Alistair doesn’t strike me as the threesome type.”

“Ah, there’s no such thing as settling for you, my dear Warden,” Zevran says.  

Before she can say anything else, a group of men approach them, swords drawn and Alistair takes a few steps back towards them.  Without a word, they strike out.  They’re easy enough to take care of.  Really, the worst part is them yelling about how she’s betraying her people, but it’s also nothing she hasn’t contemplated before.

“Do you think those were Bhelen’s men?  Maybe trying to get rid of you while discrediting Harrowmont?” Alistair asks.  “Or those Ivos people?”

Sereda leans down and carefully removes their helmets.  “No, I recognize them.  They’re from Houses that are traditionally close to the Harrowmonts.  It’s not Bhelen.  It probably wasn’t even Harrowmont either- too poorly organized.  If he tried to kill us, it’d be a little better orchestrated than this.  These are probably just people who disagree with our actions.”

Alistair nods.  “That’s good.”

Sereda closes their eyes.  It’s not something they normally do for their enemies, but they have the time and these were probably good men.  

Their little group heads to the Deep Roads, yet again.  

“You’re the one heading into the Deep Roads?” a stranger asks.  “To try to find Branka?”

Sereda wrinkles her nose at the stench coming off of him.  “Are you going to try to kill us if we say yes?  Because that’s not a wise idea.  We’ve already killed several people this morning.”

“I like you already!”  The man laughs.  “Nah.  I’m Branka’s husband, Oghren.  She took our whole House into the Deep Roads two years ago and nobody’s come to look for her.  A Paragon, and nobody cares!  If you’re going in, I’m coming with you.”

“I think we can handle this,” Alistair says.

“I’ve got knowledge you can use,” Oghren says, words slurring just a little.  “I knew what she was looking for, where she was going, that kind of stuff.”

“Are you always this drunk?” Sereda asks, more curious than anything.

“I sobered up just for you,” Oghren says.  “I can swing a maul just as well drunk as sober.”

“Well, come on, then,” Sereda says.  “I’m Sereda; that’s Alistair and Zevran.  This is Valda.”

Valda growls when Oghren approaches. 

“Woah, there!” Oghren says.  “Keep your dog under control.”

Sereda shushes him and turns to Valda, stroking his flank.  “It’s okay, boy.”

Valda just keeps growling at Oghren.

“I think it’s your smell,” Sereda says, turning back to Valda.  “Why don’t you go to the inn, wait for us there?”

Valda makes a little whimpering noise.

“It’s okay.  We’ll be okay without you,” Sereda says, rubbing his face between her hands.  “Go rest.  You deserve a little break.”

He woofs and licks her face, making her grin.  Valda turns away, trotting back to the hotel.

Sereda looks up to see all three men staring at her with a mixture of bemusement and disbelief.  Oghren is all disbelief, Zevran is pure bemusement, and Alistair the middle of the two extremes.  She blushes, feeling lighthearted for just a second amidst all the chaos.  

“Hey, he’s a hardworking dog,” Sereda says.  “Now, if you’re all done judging my relationship with my dog, we have a Paragon to find and a king to crown.”

“As you say, my dear Warden,” Zevran says with a little bow.

Sereda shakes her head affectionately and leads them into the Deep Roads.

“What do you know about where Branka went?” Sereda asks Oghren.  

“She was looking for the Anvil of the Void.  Since Paragon Caridin liked to stay and work in Ortan Thaig, that’s where she went first.  Hopefully, she’s still there, or she’s left record behind of whatever they’ve found,” Oghren says.  

“Here’s hoping,” Sereda says.

It’s good to be away from the memories of Orzammar and away from the abject confusion that is the remains of her family.  There’s an awful part of her that wants to forgive her younger brother, even though he is responsible for so many terrible things.  She wants to ignore all those terrible things to have her one remaining family member back again, but she can’t.  

They fight through waves of darkspawn.  It’s good because it helps her stay distracted.  The darkspawn never pose much of a threat, even in large numbers, but she loves being just a wrong move away from death.  The fight sings to her, soothes her.  Fighting is the one part of her life that has always been consistent, and there are no moral grey areas to killing darkspawn.

By the time they find Branka’s journal, it’s late and they’re exhausted.  They need time to examine it anyway, to see if there are any clues, so they decide to set up camp in one of the old buildings they cleared out earlier.  

“Do you want some time to look over these alone first?” Sereda asks Oghren.  

“Yeah, I’ll give you a crack at them a little later,” Oghren says, face unreadable.

She watches as he sits a little bit away from the rest of them, not able to tell what he’s thinking at all.  Hopefully, she gets a read on him soon.  On the brightside, he’s someone that she can make easy eye contact with.  That’s a bonus.  Her neck gets very sore sometimes.

“Your brother makes me quite pleased I never had any siblings,” Zevran says when she settles next to him.  She always settles in next to him these days.  “There’s far more murder involved than the stories say, which is surprising to me because I thought most stories exaggerated such things.”

Sereda snorts.  “It wasn’t always like that.  All three of us were close.  That’s why all of this is so hard.  If he had, say, tried to smother me when I was ten, what happened later would have been less surprising.  Instead, we were best friends, all three of us.  And even when Trian pushed us away, Bhelen and I were so close.”

“Bhelen may be trying to manipulate that,” Zevran says.  “You can leverage your relationship with him against him, but he can do the same against you.”

“I know.  He’s done it before.  I didn’t take the bait then, and I won’t now,” Sereda says.  There was a time when she never could have thought about the possibility, but that was before.  “I wouldn’t put anything past him now.”

Zevran slips an arm around her, gentle and light.  It barely feels like he’s touching her, like he’s not sure that that’s okay.  “If you require someone else to deal with Bhelen, I’m always at your disposal.  I would be happy to do it.”

“Thanks,” Sereda says, leaning against him.  It’s funny that she considers his sincere offer to kill her brother a kind gesture, even though he now has plenty of reason to dislike Bhelen now.  “But nothing has changed from a few days ago.  I can still kill him if need be.  I still want it to be me.  My brother, my problem, unless you’re in immediate danger, of course.”

“As you say,” Zevran says, arm a little surer around her.  

“I feel like I should apologize for all of this,” Sereda says, eyes sliding closed.  “This is far more complicated than it should be, and you all get to witness far more dramatics than you should have to.  You, in particular, have had to deal with more than you should have to.”

He’s silent for longer than he usually needs to pull together a witty retort.  “I am taking notes for a future theater production.  This is quite enlightening.  Do not worry, you are the gorgeous heroine of the whole thing.”

Sereda snorts.  “Try to make me look better than in real life, please.”

“My beautiful Warden, I couldn’t do that,” Zevran says.  “You are handling everything admirably.”

She opens one eye to look up at him lazily.  “And I thought you were done with flattery.”

“I have never flattered you a day in my life,” Zevran says, looking down at her affectionately.  “Okay, perhaps when I was begging for my life, but that was a special circumstance.”

Sereda wants to touch his face, to stroke the hard planes and soft lips, and remind herself he’s real.  She’s too tired to move, though, so she just smiles at him.  “That was a good day, meeting you.  Best failed assassination ever.”

“I must admit, after learning more about your past, I am quite confused about why you did what you did,” Zevran says softly.  His arm is tight around her now.  

“You’re going to think I’m stupid,” Sereda says.

Zevran chuckles softly.  “You are assuming that I did not think so at the time.  You allowed the assassin who had just tried to kill you to join you.  Since then, I have learned better.”

Sereda laughs with him, but something blossoms in her gut.  While they have their disagreements, it’s rare that he makes even a passing negative joke at her expense as a person, which made a lot of sense when she took a minute to consider it.  At any time, she could have decided to end his life or kick him out (which could very well be the same thing), so of course, he couldn’t say anything negative about her.

Telling her that he used to think she was stupid might be a weird way to show trust, but she appreciates it deeply.  

“Point taken.  That’s actually why I did it, though.  Bhelen and my father.  I trusted them with everything I had, like I was supposed to, and it backfired in spectacular fashion.  You have to understand, stuck on the surface honestly seems only barely better than death at first, and that was only a fluke.  If Duncan and the Wardens hadn’t been there, I would be dead,” Sereda says, opening her other eye.  

“I still don’t understand,” Zevran says.

Sereda furrows her brow, trying to figure out how to best explain it to him.  “You had just tried to kill us and you were laying there, asking to join us.  Everything in me screamed to just take my sword and, well, you know, even though I could tell that you were being truthful.  But I remember looking down at you and thinking that I had trusted everyone I should have, distrusted everyone else, and yet here I was, on the surface and surrounded by annoyingly tall humans.  Clearly, what I did hadn’t worked and part of me wanted to refuse to trust anyone.  So I decided to trust someone who was, by all accounts, untrustworthy.  I just had to, or else… I don’t know.  I would have been unable to trust anyone again.  Maybe not in that moment, but eventually.  I didn’t want that.”

Zevran shakes his head.  “You should have picked someone safer to trust.  Alistair, for example.  Now, there’s a fine fellow.”

“That would be the opposite of what I was trying to do, Zevran.  If Alistair thought for a second about betraying me, I could tell from leagues away.  He’s a very easy person to read most of the time.  It’s a different kind of trust that way, and not the way I needed to trust someone.  If you had ever decided to betray us, I don’t think I would have seen it coming.  Besides…” Sereda bites her lip, judging if she really wants to say this or not.  “I’ve never regretted trusting you.  Not for a moment.”

Zevran’s eyes widen just for a second, but then a comfortable smile fills his face instead.  “Of course not!  Where would you be without my famed Antivan massages?  Very sore, I assure you.”

Sereda blinks slowly.  She knows that she can’t say that he helped restore her faith in people or that she’d be so unhappy without him.  That he makes her feel warm and bubbly even when things are terrible.  That she needs him to save the world, as dramatic as that always sounds.  It would only terrify him (her feelings for him terrify her, too), and Ancestors know that they don’t need anyone terrified down here.  

“You do have some talented fingers,” Sereda says, “and you’re the only one who treats Valda like one of the team.  He’s fond of you.”

“I’m fond of him as well,” Zevran says, smiling slyly at her.  

Sereda’s reply is interrupted by a shadow looming over them.  She looks up to see Oghren, fingering Branka’s journal.  The stench of alcohol coming off of him is unmistakable. 

“I’m through.  Thought you’d want to take a look,” Oghren says gruffly, looking between the two of them with a confused look on his face.  

She’s suddenly cognizant of Zevran’s arm wrapped tightly around her and just how much she’s pressed herself against Zevran’s body.  It’s unmistakeable.  Hopefully, this isn’t going to be a problem for Oghren.  While the dwarves don’t have elf-specific disdain in their society like humans do, there is a generalized disdain for anything that comes from and lives on the surface.  She can knock him on his ass and she will if she has to, but she’s also so tired.  

“Find anything useful?” Sereda asks.  

“No, but maybe you can get something out of it.  You seem like a bright sort, for someone who’d come wandering through here anyway,” Oghren says.  

“Thanks,” Sereda says dryly, taking the diary.  “Can’t beat that royal education.” 

“Wait… you’re that princess, aren’t you?” Oghren says, suddenly looking even more confused by Zevran’s arm around her.  “That one who killed her mother or something.”

“He’s quick, this one,” Zevran murmurs in her ear, squeezing her arm.  

“Or something,” Sereda says.  “Why don’t you sleep it off?”

Oghren nods, but instead of heading to his bedroll, he totters over next to Alistair to engage in what Sereda is sure is a horrifying conversation.  She throws Alistair an apologetic look and quickly looks down at the diary.  

“Is it exciting?  To hold something that belonged to a Paragon?” Zevran asks curiously.

Sereda shrugs.  “We don’t think that they’re holy- we’re not Andrastians and we don’t have gods.  It depends on what’s in the diary I suppose.  If it doesn’t have anything useful in it, then it’s just a journal.”  

“You read; I’ll admire how beautiful you look while doing so,” Zevran says.

Sereda blushes and cracks open the diary.

The diary seems to be less a diary and more a research journal.  It’s got page after page theorizing about how golems were created, where Caridin may have kept his secrets, and how she could get there.  There are few personal details recorded- mainly pertaining to a woman named Hespith.  

If Sereda didn’t already know, she wouldn’t even guess that Branka had a husband.  That explains his sour mood, at least.  Nobody likes to be forgotten, and she’d imagine it’s worse when it’s your spouse doing the forgetting.

Zevran’s arm is warm around her, thumb rubbing her arm casually.  True to his jest, he’s watching her read and every time she looks up to see him, she tries not to blush and looks right back down at the diary.  He’s ridiculous.  

Luckily for Sereda, Branka had been meticulous in recording her thought process, so it’s not too difficult to piece together her next move, and a few potential moves after that.  With a sigh, Sereda shuts the diary carefully.  

“No luck?” Zevran asks.

“I figured it out,” Sereda says.  “It’s just that nobody is going to like where we have to go.”

* * *

“Why is it always names like ‘The Dead Trenches’ with your people, Sereda?” Alistair asks the next morning.  “Why not ‘The Happy Trenches’ or something with a little more cheer?”

“I must confess, I agree with Alistair,” Zevran says.  “It is rather grim.”

“Because while topsiders have the luxury of ignoring darkspawn when there’s not a Blight, they are always a part of our lives,” Sereda explains calmly.  She knows Alistair’s just scared.  “We’ve lost almost all our holdings and every House in the warrior caste has lost members to the darkspawn.  It doesn’t make for an optimistic people.  It also leads to a lot of dead dwarves.  Hence the name.”  

“Point taken, sorry,” Alistair says.  

“It’s okay,” Sereda assures him, leading them forward.  

They continue on in silence.  It’s pretty routine after that, fighting darkspawn and looting ancient chests.  She feels honored, in a way.  Very few dwarves have had the chance to see these parts of their ancestral thaigs in a long, long time.  

And then she hears the poem.  The haunting poem that seems to echo off the walls and resonate somewhere deep inside her in an uncomfortable way.  It repeats over and over and settles in Sereda’s ribs.  She’s overtaken with a sudden need to find the source of the poem and… talk to her.  Make her stop.  Snuff her out.  

_ Now she does feast, as she's become the beast. _

Sereda feels herself whispering along and bites her lip hard.

When she sees the ghoulish looking woman, she suddenly wants to run as far away as she can.  She’s never run from a fight in her entire life, but she wants to run away from this unarmed woman.  

Then she starts to talk, in a meandering, horrible way.  Sereda knows she should ask more about Branka and what happened, but she has a morbid curiosity about the broodmothers.  

It turns out that broodmothers aren’t born; they’re made.  They’re made from women captured in the Deep Roads, fed the flesh of darkspawn and their own people.  She realizes with a dawning horror that she could be looking at her future.  That she could be captured during her Calling and force fed flesh until her mind becomes twisted and broken, and until her infertile body starts to birth darkspawn.  

Sereda’s stomach churns in morbid realization and she stumbles backwards as Hespith runs and jumps into the darkness.  She wants to do the same.

“I’ll be right back,” Sereda says, taking a few steps away from her companions.

They move to follow her, but she throws up a hand.  Her helmet is still covering her face, so they can’t see the abject horror written there.  Thank the Ancestors for small miracles.

“Give a woman a little privacy when she needs to pee, okay?” she says harshly. 

The three men stop and nod, and Sereda darts behind a building so she’s out of sight.  Once she has some privacy, she rips her helmet off and falls to her hands and knees.  Spasms wrack her body as she throws up her breakfast.  

There’s a gentle hand on the back of her head, and Sereda draws a sword, ready to defend herself.  They won’t take her alive.

“Woah, woah!” It’s Alistair, hands up in the universal symbol for non aggression.  “I’m not some creepy darkspawn.  Just your creepy fellow Grey Warden.”

“What are you doing over here?” Sereda says weakly as she sheathes her sword.  “I could have been peeing.”

“In which case, I would have been morbidly embarrassed, and you and Zevran could both have many laughs at my expense.  But I do know what vomiting sounds like, and it sounds very different than peeing,” Alistair says.  

“Do they train you in that sort of thing, in the Chantry?” Sereda asks.

Alistair snorts.  “Extensively.” 

“Then I feel safe and sound,” Sereda says dryly.  

“You’re not going to become one of them, you know,” Alistair says.  “A broodmother or whatever.  If that’s what you’re worried about.”

“I could.  That’s a real, actual look at my possible future.  Captured, forced to eat darkspawn and dwarven flesh until I mutate… I don’t even want to know into what,” Sereda says.  Her throat starts to get tight as her voice rises and gets more frantic.  “The Taint makes it unlikely I’ll ever have children of my own, but I might give birth to thousands of little darkspawn.  I might birth more than I kill.  It might-”

“I won’t let that happen.  Or Zevran won’t.  Neither of us,” Alistair cuts her off before she really starts to spiral.  “While, by now, I’m  _ pretty  _ sure Zevran isn’t secretly plotting to kill you, I’m sure that he would mercy kill you to keep you from becoming a broodmother.  I would, too.  Probably Valda, too!  You’ve got lots of friends who’ll kill you, but in a good way!”

Sereda smiles a bit at that.  “So, you don’t think Zevran is seducing me as part of a long con assassination plot anymore?”

“Anyone can tell that he genuinely cares for you and that you care for him, too,” Alistair says softly.  “I don’t understand why you feel the way you do about Zevran- the man tried to kill us-, but that doesn’t matter.  I’m glad you’re happy.”  

“Thanks, Alistair,” Sereda says.    “I’m really glad that we were together at Ostagar.  I can’t imagine doing this without you.”

Alistair reaches down a hand and helps pull her to her feet.  “Same with you, Sereda.  Maker knows I couldn’t’ve led us through any of this.”

“I think you would make a better leader than you think if you had the chance,” Sereda says.  “But, it’s good you don’t have to.”

She doesn’t want him to have to agonize like she’s had to agonize over the past few days.  She wants him to be happy, or at least as happy as you can be while being hunted by a madman.

“Yeah,” Alistair says, nodding in fervent agreement.  “You good?”

“I’m good,” Sereda says, nodding and replacing her helmet.  “Ready to end this.”

Alistair smiles.  “That’s the spirit.”

They walk back to the rest of the group, Sereda feeling steadier than she expected.  Zevran is the person she’s in a relationship with, but Alistair is her best friend and just as important to her.  She really would be lost without him, and not just because he knows more about being a Grey Warden than she does.

“Did you assist our most fair Grey Warden in her bathroom endeavors?” Zevran asks, looking between them with curiosity.

“It’s a Grey Warden thing,” Sereda says smoothly as Alistair tries to stutter out an answer.  “We’ve got to pee in packs sometimes.”

“Your order is most strange, my dear Warden,” Zevran says.

“All three of you are strange,” Oghren says gruffly.  “Can we get going already?”

“Of course,” Sereda says, leading the way. 

She’s not surprised when there’s a broodmother through the next door, nor does it shake her that much.  This isn’t going to be her future.  It isn’t.  No matter what, she’ll die as herself.  

When she slices through the beast’s head, it feels like triumph.  She’s freed whatever poor dwarf used to exist and stopped the violation of her body.  

“May the Stone take you,” Sereda whispers to her.  

She looks up to see Alistair watching her and she nods to him reassuringly.  She’s okay.

It only takes another thirty seconds for everything to dissolve into madness, again.  At least she’s not the only one with wild family problems, she reflects, as Branka locks them into what’s apparently a death trap that’s claimed a lot of lives.  

“We’ve brought your husband,” Alistair offers.

That just makes Branka laugh.  “Your chances of survival just went down.”

“What is with your families?” Alistair mutters darkly under his breath.  “Don’t you ever just not try to kill each other?”

Sereda shrugs.  “We’re a stubborn, yet unpredictable people.”

“I’m telling you, you guys need to start being unpredictable in a happier kind of way, and not one where you lock people in death traps,” Alistair says.

“I’ll keep that in mind for when I go on my own wild bend,” Sereda says, laughing.  

“Thank you, I appreciate that greatly,” Alistair says with a sigh as he draws his sword and shield.  

There are waves and waves of darkspawn to fight through.  While there are a lot of them, it’s still not that difficult a battle as long as they stay close together.  Oghren is a better fighter than she would have guessed by the sheer amount of alcohol he seems to consume.

Once the chamber is clear, they step into a room that immediately starts filling with gas as the door clangs shut behind them.  It makes her eyes water and her throat spasm as she coughs.  Before she can even make a dry comment on how much fun this is, a golem lumbers to life.  Shit.

There has to be some way to cut off the flow of gas into the room.  If there isn’t, this could be a very short, very unpleasant fight.

As the golem lumbers towards them, Sereda looks around the room.  It takes a second, but she notices four wheels around the room.  They have to control the flow of the gas.  

“Zevran!  Those wheels are yours!” Sereda shouts out, voice hoarse.  “Alistair and Oghren, we keep the golem focused on us and away from Zevran.”

She gets yells of assent from everyone and they spring into action.  All she wants is to keep an eye on Zevran, but her head is swimming and she knows she has to focus on the golem.

It swings at her and she dodges out of the way.  Everything seems to be going okay, but when Zevran stops to turn one of the wheels, it turns away from them and towards him.  That’s not okay on every level that she can think of.

“Hey!” Sereda screams out, slashing at the golem with both her swords.  “Over here, ugly!”

It raises its fist, presumably to crush Zevran, and Sereda sheathes her swords.  She climbs up the golem to distract it, fingers aching as they’re forced to support an awful lot of her weight.  There are not a lot of deep handholds on a golem, it turns out.  Caridin did not design them to be climbed.  Too bad.

She raps on its back, yelling and trying to get its attention.  It pauses, not coming down to crush Zevran and giving him the chance to finish turning the wheel before darting to the next one.  One crisis averted.

There are, of course, downsides to climbing onto a golem and drawing attention to herself.  Mainly that it starts trying to grab at her and shake her off.  That part isn’t too bad.  

What’s bad is when it starts trying to back her against the wall.  There’s not enough room for it to hit her too hard, but it can crush her slowly.  She realizes with horror that it’s pressing her back against the wall until her body bursts.  That sounds like a distinctly unpleasant way to die.

Her lungs are burning from lack of air, even though she can see that the gas is starting to clear, her vision is starting to blur.  She forces herself to climb up even higher, where the air might be easier to breathe.  There’s no part of her that isn’t in searing pain, but she can hear the noises that mean everyone else is still okay.  The quick slashes of Zevran’s daggers, the precise swings of Alistair’s sword coupled with the thud of his shield, and the newest sound: the heavy clunk of Oghren’s hammer.  They’re all okay.

The golem manages to grab ahold of her before tossing her across the room with a thud.  Her helmet cracks against the stone and all she sees is darkness.

* * *

“Ree!  Ree!  Ree!” 

Nobody has called her Ree for a long, long time.

She opens her eyes to see Trian looking down at her.  There’s something fundamentally wrong with what she’s seeing.  The sun is bright behind him; Trian would rather die than see the sun.  Trian  _ is  _ dead, and this Trian is a young boy, maybe only twelve.

“This isn’t real,” Sereda says.  “It’s not the Fade either.”

She’s not in any pain.  That’s something else that’s not quite right.

“Of course not,” Trian says.  “You’re still a dwarf.  It’s just in your head.”

“Why are you here?” Sereda asks.

“You wanted me here,” Trian says, shrugging.

“I want you alive,” Sereda says.  “I want to go back to how things should be.  You the heir and me the irritating little sister who won’t shut up about how regressive you are.  You the king and me your general and Bhelen helping you work the Assembly.  Even me as the queen and you as the brother who loathes me.  Anything but you dead.”

“You can’t go back, little sister- you don’t even want to.  You’re so much happier as a Grey Warden than you would have been in Orzammar,” Trian says.  “You can’t deny that.”

“But you’re dead,” Sereda says.  Her voice is whiny in her own ears, which normally she hates.  It doesn’t bother her here, though.  “It’s not right.  This isn’t how things are supposed to be.”

“That doesn’t mean you’re not allowed to be happy.  You didn’t do this to me,” Trian says.  

“If Bhelen hadn’t killed you, I wouldn’t know any of the people who are most important to me now.  I wouldn’t know Zevran,” Sereda says, chest seizing.  “Father would have married me off to some noble and I would have to spend all my time trying to give birth to little royal babies.”

“I would hate everything about Zevran,” Trian says.  “From his smug smirk to his shameless nature to how tall he is to how forward he is with you, with no respect for your status.”

Sereda laughs.  “I know.  I’ve thought about it before, actually.  You would probably threaten to beat some shame into him, and I’d threaten to teach you the real meaning of pain if you tried.”

“But he makes you happy,” Trian says.  “That’s not something that I’d ever care about, but it’s true.”

“He does,” Sereda says.  “Everything about him makes me so happy.  I love him.”

She’s never really admitted it before, but none of this is real anyway.

“You only have him because I died.  You only have your life as a Grey Warden because I died,” Trian says, “and that makes you feel guilty.”

“It’s easy to forget, so far away from here, but to see Orammar again- to see Bhelen again- just reminds me that all of my happiness is because of the terrible things he did,” Sereda says.  “In a world where you’re alive, I don’t get this life that I love.  The man that I love.  But I should want you alive more than I want to be happy.  You’re my brother.”

“There’s nothing you can do to change it,” Trian says.  “You have to deal with it.  Learn to live with it.”

“It’s just me and Bhelen left,” Sereda says.  “Our family is dead, except him.”

“You have a new family now,” Trian says.  “That’s okay.”

Trian is getting further and further away, and Sereda reaches out for him even though she knows this isn’t him.  Her brother would never be this understanding of something as foolish as falling in love.  He would be tough and hard and unyielding.  She wants both versions.

* * *

Everything hurts again, and Sereda knows she’s alive.  There’s something squeezing her hand.  She has a mission; the details of it are fuzzy right now, but it’s still enough to force her eyes open.

“Sereda!” Zevran’s voice is scared yet joyful, and his face comes into focus above her.  

Alistair’s face joins Zevran’s.  He also looks terrified.  So much terror today.

She tries to say something, but she starts to cough.  The air rushing into her lungs is clean, not gas, which is a relief.  What happened is coming back to her in bits and pieces.  She has to smother the urge to look around for Trian.

“Be careful.  Have a drink,” Zevran says, grabbing his canteen and unscrewing the lid.  

He cradles her head tenderly, helping her sit up and drink.  Maybe it’s the angle or the roaring in her own ears, but she swears she can hear his heart beating hard and fast through his too thin armor.  She swallows a few mouthfuls of water gratefully.

“That was a very stupid thing you did,” Zevran murmurs softly.

“I had to,” Sereda says.  She reaches up and strokes his scared face tenderly.  “See?  Armor is very useful.”

Zevran sets the canteen down and skirts his fingers over her chest.  When she looks down, she sees a large dent in the armor.  That could have been bad.  Worse, she amends, because it already feels pretty bad.

“We should rest here for a while,” Zevran murmurs.

“I’m fine, Zevran,” Sereda says.  

“You were almost suffocated by a golem and then thrown against the wall,” Zevran says.  “You were probably stepped on, too.”  

“It was a terrible sound, when it threw you,” Alistair says.  “Actually, it was a lot of terrible sounds.”

“Dwarves don’t do things halfway,” Sereda says, struggling to sit all the way up and fake some bravado.  “We can’t just fight a golem, we’ve got to climb ‘em and get thrown around by ‘em.”

“Maybe you should rest for a bit,” Alistair says.  

“Wait a minute, who stepped on me?” Sereda asks, looking up at both of them accusingly.  “If it was the golem, I’d feel a lot worse right now.  Those things are heavy.”

Alistair shrugs sheepishly.  “I was trying to guard you, okay?”

She considers taking the piss out of him more, but he looks genuinely concerned and remorseful, and she doesn’t want to make either of them more upset.  “Thank you.  Thank you to you both, and Oghren, too.  But we really need to get going.”

“You need to rest,” Alistair says.  “Maybe we could stay here tonight.  It’s late.”

“We need to finish this.  And I don’t think spending the night in a death trap is a good idea,” Sereda says, trying to get up.  “I, personally, don’t want to die.”

Zevran sighs and helps her to her feet.  “If something feels wrong-”

“Then we’ll keep going anyway.  We really don’t have a choice here,” Sereda says, reaching out to stroke his face quickly.  “Please tell me my helmet survived.”

“Afraid not,” Alistair says, nodding behind her.  

She turns around to see a twisted hunk of metal.  Great.  All that lecturing about the importance of armor and she’s going to go helmetless into the deathtrap.  

Her body is screaming at her to rest, but she ignores it.  She can feel everyone’s eyes watching her, and she ignores them too as she opens the door to the next room.  

“This is some ugly sculpture,” Sereda notes with some humor as she enters.

Nobody laughs, and she’s not sure if her remark was that bad or if they’re all too upset to laugh.  She’s going to hope for the latter because she does like to think she has a decent sense of humor.  

Then, of course, spirits appear.  It’s a  _ magic _ ugly sculpture.  

“You know,” Sereda says to no one in particular, “you’re not supposed to have to deal with magic when you come to Orzammar.  Darkspawn, murderous family members, the Assembly, sure.  But not  _ magic _ .  Ancestors, what is this place coming to?”

She’s honestly never understood the stuff, and her time on the surface has only made her more confused.  That time she was trapped in the Fade and kept on magically becoming other things is among her least favorite memories.  

“Any ideas?” Sereda asks.  She feels like she’s talking to herself at this point.

“I could hit it real hard with my maul,” Oghren offers.

When she looks to Alistair and Zevran to see whether they think this is a terrible idea or not, they’re too busy looking at her worriedly to be of any help.  Typical.

“Might as well try it,” Sereda says, shrugging before she remembers how much that hurts.  “Be careful.”

“Always am,” Oghren says, and she’s suddenly grateful about having a stranger in the group.  He doesn’t care if she gets beaten up by a golem; he just continues on his way.

Sereda snorts because she doubts Oghren is ever careful.  She watches as he approaches the statue and whacks it with his hammer.  When nothing happens, he whacks one of the anvils with the hammer.  

That seems to make one of the spirits stir, and she gets an idea.

“Maybe we have to kill the spirits, then use the anvils to do something to the heads,” she suggests.  

Thus begins a weird series of experimentation with the anvils and the weird giant rotating heads.  She honestly has no idea how they manage it (and every once in a while they get hit with a painful bolt of energy for their trouble) but they destroy the sculpture.  Both Zevran and Alistair stick almost suffocatingly close to her, but considering the random bolts of pain the statue keeps sending out, she can’t blame them.

She considers telling them that she couldn’t possibly be in much more pain than she already is, but that doesn’t seem like it would actually help, so she keeps her mouth shut.  

“This had better be worth it,” Zevran mutters darkly when they destroy the final head.

They make their way forward, and Sereda is relieved when there don’t seem to be any more traps.  She wants to be through with this.  

“You must help me,” a deep, rumbly voice comes from within the new cave in which they find themselves.

Of course, they can’t even travel to the Deep Roads, far away from any kind of civilization, without finding someone in desperate need of their help.  It’s definitely a surprise that it’s a golem asking for help, though.

“With what?” Sereda asks, dragging herself forward.

“I am Paragon Caridin,” it says.  “I created the Anvil of the Void, and I need you to destroy it.”

“Hah!  Don’t listen to him,” Branka appears behind them.  “We need that device.”

“Why do you want to destroy your greatest creation?” Sereda asks.  

“Because the cost is too high.  To create a golem requires one life.  At first, only volunteers underwent the excruciating process.  They were willing to set aside their lives for the good of our people.  But as time went on, we needed more than were willing to volunteer.  The casteless, the criminals, the castoffs, were brought to me and forced into the Anvil, to become as I am now,” Caridin says.  “I can’t destroy it- no golem can- but you can undo my greatest error.”

“With the Anvil, we could take back our ancestral lands!  We could beat back the Blight above and continue the fight when the darkspawn return to the caves!” Branka says.

“I need you to return to me with Orzammar,” Sereda says to Caridin.  “The Assembly is divided and needs you to crown a king.”

Honestly, any Paragon will do, and Caridin hasn’t tried to kill her.  Yet.  That earns him major points in her book.

“Destroy the Anvil, and I will craft you a crown, bearing my seal.  You may crown whoever you think is worthy with my blessing,” Caridin says.  “The people will listen.”

“Then I will destroy the Anvil for you,” Sereda says.

“Wait a moment,” Zevran interrupts.  “Think about the power that the Anvil has.  It would be a shame to destroy it, just because it causes pain.  This world is full of pain.  The laborer barely producing enough food to feed his family hurts, but we let it continue.  This doesn’t seem much different.  It seems better, actually.”

Sereda turns to him.  “You want to become a golem?”

“Now, I didn’t say that, but the possibilities are impressive,” Zevran says with a nervous chuckle.  

“And if I forced you into the Anvil?  Still impressed?” Sereda asks.

Zevran pales a little.  “My dear Warden, certainly you wouldn’t do  _ that _ .”

“Why not, if the only thing I cared about was power?” Sereda asks coldly.  “What would stop me?  I quite like you as you are, but if all I wanted was more power, I’d turn you into a golem without a second thought.”

She can imagine it.  All of Bhelen’s political enemies, marched into the Anvil.  There’s a lot she can live with, but not that.  

“Perhaps you have a point,” Zevran says, looking away.

“You can’t destroy the Anvil!  I won’t let you!” Branka says.  

“You can’t stop me,” Sereda says.  

“That’s what you think,” Branka says, fiddling with something.

Suddenly, four golems jump to life as Branka grabs her own weapon.  When she looks over to Caridin for support, he seems to be frozen.  Today just keeps getting better and better.  At least two more golems rumble to life and seem to be on their side.  

“Don’t forget to duck,” Alistair says as they draw their weapons.

“Don’t forget to watch your own back, not just mine,” Sereda says, smiling up at him reassuringly.  

The battle is over quicker than Sereda would have expected, and none of them even get thrown against a wall.  It’s a blur of agony for her; her body wants to rest, not keep fighting for her life, but she forces it to work anyway.  

She does her best to direct Oghren towards the golems, thinking it might be difficult for him to kill his wife if she doesn’t surrender.  It’s hard, however, to effectively do that in the middle of another pitched battle for their lives, especially as things start to blur together.

However it goes down, by the end, the four golems and Branka are dead, and her companions are all on their feet.  She does a quick visual inspection and doesn’t see anything too obviously wrong with any of them, so she turns to Caridin.  

“Tell me how to destroy the Anvil,” Sereda says.

She follows his instructions exactly, feeling no regret as the most powerful weapon her kind has ever created is destroyed.  The cost of using it is too high, as is the cost of giving it to her brother.

“Now, please, make me the crown,” Sereda says.

“As you wish,” Caridin says, turning away and getting to work.

“Are you both okay?” Sereda asks Alistair and Zevran.  

They both nod wordlessly, and Sereda decides to take their word for it.  She ambles over to the ledge that overlooks the flow of lava and sits down heavily.  If there’s a part of her that isn’t in pain, it must be numb.

It’s strangely peaceful, sitting there on the ledge and listening.  The lava is flowing and the bang of Caridin’s hammer soothes her.  It’s been so long since any dwarf has been here, and yet, here she is.  Beaten, broken, but alive and surviving.  On days like today, that seems like all anyone can ask for.

She watches the lava and traces the outline of the old cavern with her eyes.  This will probably be the last time that she gets to sit and enjoy the feeling of being underground.  Of being home.  

“It is done,” Caridin says after a time.  

“You could come back to Orzammar.  There’s a Blight, and we could use you,” Sereda says.  

“I have lived for far too long.  This is not my time.  I want to rest,” Caridin says.  “Should you live to be many hundreds of years with this weight, you would understand.”

“I do,” Sereda says, taking the crown from him.  She feels old before her time already.  To live to be hundreds of years old, surrounded only by your regrets, seems like the worst sort of torture she can imagine.

“You have my eternal thanks for what you have done here.   Atrast nal tunsha,” Caridin says.

“May you be returned to the Stone,” Sereda says.  

She watches impassively as he flings himself off the ledge she was just sitting on.  It takes him some time to sink, and she wonders whether or not he’s capable of feeling any sort of pain.  Probably not.  

“It’s time to return to Orzammar,” Sereda says, still watching the lava.  “Crown a king.”

“Maybe we should consider making camp here tonight,” Alistair says.  “You need rest.”

She looks to where Oghren is staring at Branka’s body.  There’s no need to keep him here with his ghosts for a whole night.

“I don’t think so.  We need to get back as soon as possible,” Sereda says.  She walks over to Oghren and puts a hand on his arm.  “Are you good to go?”

“Oh yeah,” Oghren says, nodding firmly.  “I’m ready to go.”

“Good man,” Sereda says.

“Crazy old woman,” Oghren mutters to himself.  “She always was a crazy old woman.”

It’s a long, silent trudge back to Orzammar and the crown is heavy in her arms.  She wants to ask someone else to carry it for her, but she can’t.  Crowning the next king of Orzammar is her burden alone and she’s going to see it all the way through.  Sore arms are the least of her concerns.

The darkspawn haven’t had time to reinfest this part of the cavern system, so it’s a peaceful walk.  At some point, Zevran comes to walk beside her.  He doesn’t say anything or even look at her, but it’s good to have him next to her.  She wants to talk to him about threatening to turn him into a golem, but she has no idea what to say, or even if anything needs to be said.

When they reach the entrance, she turns to Oghren.  “We have some business to take care of, but you can wait for us at the inn.”

“Sounds good.  I’ll see what they have on tap,” Oghren says.

Sereda snorts.  “Have fun.”

She turns to Alistair and Zevran once he’s gone.  “If you-”

“Sereda.  We’re not going to abandon you,” Alistair says, looking over at Zevran.

“Thank you,” Sereda says, nodding at them both.  “Time to finish this.”

“Good,” Zevran says.

They find out that the Assembly is in session, and Sereda brushes past the guards with the ease of a more energetic person.  She knows how to walk like she belongs here, even if she doesn’t anymore.  

“I have seen the Anvil of the Void,” Sereda says, her voice cutting through the chatter.  “I have spoken to Paragon Caridin and he forged this crown for the next king of Orzammar.”

“We can’t trust her!” A voice rings out.  “She’s an Aeducan.”

Heedless of the voice and the resulting clamor, she walks down the aisle to where both Harrowmont and Bhelen are standing.  Bhelen is looking at her smugly, knowingly.  It makes her want to punch him in the face.

Sereda looks around at the gathered members of the Assembly, staring them down impassively until they’re ready to listen.  She won’t shout.

“I’m not an Aeducan.  Not anymore.  I am a Grey Warden, before you today to humbly carry out Paragon Caridin’s will.  For the good of Orzammar and for the good of us all,” Sereda says, head held high as she makes eye contact with the deshyrs.  

They’re listening, spellbound.  It’s good to know she still has it, she supposes.

With bittersweet bile rising in her throat, she places the crown on her younger brother’s head.  She hopes she doesn’t come to regret this.

“Bhelen Aeducan, you are the Paragon’s choice for king of Orzammar,” Sereda says.  “May you rule with wisdom.”

The Assembly cheers, securing his place as king, even over Harrowmont’s protests.

“For my first act as king, I would like to restore the rights of my sister for her service to the crown of Orzammar.  From now on, you will go with the honor of House Aeducan, and when you die, you may be returned to the Stone, as any honorable dwarf would be,” Bhelen says.  

Sereda looks at Bhelen, hard. There’s got to be another motive here, beyond this act of reconciliation.  

Deep in her gut, she knows what’s coming and the real reason why he restored her rights, but she doesn’t want to admit it.  She wants him to be better than this.

“And for my second act as king, I declare Lord Harrowmont a traitor to the crown.  The penalty for this is death.  Orzammar needs unity in these difficult times, not dissent,” Bhelen proclaims.

Sereda inhales sharply.  “Bhelen.”

“This is necessary,” Bhelen replies softly.  “You knew this was coming.”

She did, is the thing.  But she wanted to pretend she didn’t, to pretend to be a good enough person to stop him, even if she isn’t.

Zevran makes eye contact with her from across the chamber and a bolt of understanding passes between them.  He knows that this is one of the things she was talking about that night that seems so long ago.  She can tell by the way he’s looking at her, surprised, impressed, and sorrowful all at once.  

Of course, the Harrowmonts don’t go without a fight, and, of course, since Bhelen restored her rights, they all want a piece of her as well.  It keeps them all from swarming Bhelen.  Smart move.  The real reason she’s an Aeducan again.

Alistair and Zevran fight their way through Harrowmont’s men towards her.  She’s grateful for their care because her body is moving slower than normal, screaming out against all she’s put it through today.  

Luckily, these aren’t Harrowmont’s finest, and Bhelen has plenty of supporters, too.  They go down easily, and soon Sereda is standing up on dais of the Assembly with her brother, friends, and the dead bodies of her brother’s enemies, surrounded by his cheering fans.

“Smile, sister,” Bhelen murmurs, waving at the crowd.  “You did this.”

Sereda wants to throw up again.  Since she was young, she wondered what it’d be like when her brother was crowned king.  Even if Trian was a jerk, she still looked forward to the day.  How could she have imagined her brother’s coronation would be like this?

“Since I’m sure my thanks doesn’t mean much to you personally, I do have a gift for you,” Bhelen says.

“All I want from you is that you fulfill your part of the treaty.  Give us the troops we need to stop the Blight,” Sereda says stiffly.  

She’s never been more exhausted in her life, and just seeing Bhelen’s face is making it worse.  Maybe she can hate her brother.

“You’ll want this gift, Sereda,” Bhelen says.  “I know you.  Just come back to the palace with me.”

“Fine,” Sereda says.  

“We could bring it to you,” Zevran says.  “You don’t have to go.”

Before Sereda can reply, Bhelen laughs.  “What a sweet, clueless errand boy you’ve found, sister.  She’s an Aeducan.  Her pride won’t let her send you in her stead, especially not if she thinks I might be a danger and especially not if she cares for you.”

His taunt brings forth all the anger and resentment that she had felt the last time they had talked.  It bursts through the haze of her exhaustion, making her feel less like a dead husk of a person.

“You can return to the inn, if you prefer,” Sereda says, turning to face Zevran and Alistair.  

“Will you please stop asking us to abandon you?” Alistair exclaims.

“Let’s go, then,” Sereda says roughly, leading the way to the palace.  

“I do hope you come back and visit again some day,” Bhelen says.  

“I’ve got a lot to do,” Sereda says, glaring over at him.  “Don’t forget about Gorim.”

How many times did they walk through here together?  Laughing and crying and just having any of the hundreds of mundane conversations that make up a life.

“But you’ll succeed, Sereda,” Bhelen says, nodding.  “If anyone can do it, it’s you.  You’ll save Thedas; I know it.  And then, if you want, there’ll be a home here for you.”

The familiarity is galling, sharpening her anger into something white hot and screaming for an outlet.  

She doesn’t reply until they’re in the privacy of the palace.  Her words seem insufficient, so she unbuckles her glove and punches him in the face instead.  

Bhelen used her, manipulated her, killed her family, and still has the nerve to talk like they’re still close.  He offers her her rightful home back when he’s the reason she had to leave in the first place.  How long did he sit with them at dinners while arranging for their deaths?  What has he done that she hasn’t even begun to uncover?  Did her sweet, unassuming little brother ever exist, or was everything a lie?

He’s clearly caught unawares, her fist colliding right with his jaw.  If she was in top form, she could have broken it, but as she is, it’ll probably just bruise.  Her hand is throbbing along with the rest of her body and she’s panting with exertion, but it’s worth it.  

“I could have you arrested for that,” Bhelen says, voice low and dangerous again.  “You just punched the king of Orzammar.”

“Do it,” Sereda says, grinning at him.  She must look crazed, but she doesn’t care.  “Put me in chains this time.  Lock me up, again.  Strip me of all my rights, again.  Then you can give them back to me when it’s politically useful for you  _ again _ .”

“I gave them back to you because I thought you wanted them!” Bhelen says.

“You could have done it later, after your summary executions.  Instead of doing it when you knew it would make me a target, to take some of the attention off you because you knew the Harrowmonts would fight back,” Sereda says.  “People don’t enjoy being sentenced to die, especially for no reason.”

“I had to do it, Sereda!  They were enemies of the crown!” Bhelen says.

“You just hated they opposed you!”

“It’s the same thing!”

“No, it’s not!” Sereda yells. 

“This is why I couldn’t let you be queen, Sereda.  You’re too weak, too idealistic, too unwilling to do what’s necessary,” Bhelen says.  He glances behind her to where Zevran and Alistair are standing.  “Too prone to personal attachment.”  

“Is this what you’re getting me?  More justifications for the annihilation of our family?” Sereda asks.  “I’m not interested.  You slaughtered our brother, Bhelen.  You killed Trian!”

“Why are you so insistent on remembering Trian as some kind of Paragon?” Bhelen asks, crossing his arms.  “He was terrible to both of us.  Cruel, even.”

“I haven’t forgotten, Bhelen.  He sent me crying to my room at least twice a week for a good two years, remember?” Sereda asks.  “Just because Trian was a jerk doesn’t mean you had to kill him.”

“I do!  It was terrible,” Bhelen says plaintively.  “We’re so much better without him.  Just admit it.”

Sereda shakes her head.  “No, we’re not.  We would have been painfully unhappy without him.”

Bhelen’s face turns hard and he holds himself like Trian used to, and Sereda braces herself for what she knows is coming.  “You have to focus on your duty, Ree.  Ree, nobody could ever really love you.  Ree, keep in mind that you’re second born; you’re holding your head too high.”

“You’re taking most of that out of context and you know it,” Sereda says, inhaling deeply.  “Princesses are inherently unlovable, so are princes.  We were commodities, not people.  There’s no room for love when your father is going to marry you off to whoever is most strategic.  He was trying to keep me from learning that the hard way and he held himself to that same standard.  Duty first is a lesson that’s served me well.”

“You don’t have to defend him.  He’s dead,” Bhelen says.

Sereda juts her chin out.  “Do you have any idea how much he did for us?  Because you never mention it.”

“Anything he did for us, he did for House Aeducan.  I’m sorry if you’re too deluded to realize that,” Bhelen says.  

Sereda shakes her head.  “Trian brought me my favorite species of deep mushroom after that terrible assassination attempt broke my arm.  What did that do for House Aeducan?  Trian buried your pet nug when he died and gave a eulogy because you were so upset.  What did that do for House Aeducan?  Trian sat up late and told us both about Mother with tears in his eyes, because he’s the one who knew her best and Father couldn’t bear to think of her!  Tell me how that helped House Aeducan!  Tell me because I’m too deluded to figure that out!”  She realizes that she’s screaming at him, fists clenched and she has to relax or else she’ll punch him again.  Or worse.

Bhelen looks truly flustered for the first time since she’s come back to Orzammar.  Maybe there’s more of her baby brother in there than she thought.  

“Trian could be terrible sometimes,” Sereda says, voice quiet now.  “But he loved us both so much, Bhelen.  You just want him to be a villain for your guilty conscience.  But he was never a villain, and you’re not a hero.  Neither of us are.  We’re just two terrible people who are bound by blood and our own guilt.” 

“I’ll be right back,” Bhelen says, turning and leaving before she can say anything.

Sereda stands there, breathing heavily.  She doesn’t even know what she feels.  Her whole brain is a blank space that she can’t even begin to fill in right now.

“Sereda,” Zevran’s voice is quiet but firm; Alistair’s is louder and wavering.

“Don’t,” Sereda says.  She had forgotten they weren’t alone.  Shit.

Bhelen returns, holding a familiar looking weapon.

“Is that…” Sereda asks, breath catching in her throat.  She shakes her head, pressing her hand to her mouth as the anger leaves her all alone with her sadness and pain.

“Trian’s maul,” Bhelen says.  “I thought it was more appropriate for you to have it.”

Sereda takes it from him, hefting it with the utmost care.  “He loved this maul.  Spent so much time maintaining it that you never would have guessed that we had a blacksmith at our disposal.”

“I’m pretty sure that Trian loved it more than he loved almost anyone,” Bhelen says with the barest hint of bitterness.

“Who ever would have thought, growing up, that Trian would have been the best person out of the three Aeducan children?” Sereda muses.  

“It doesn’t matter,” Bhelen says.  “What matters is surviving, and conquering.”

Sereda sighs.  Her brother is still so young.  “There is so much more to life than conquering.  I hope you understand that, before you’re left all alone.  If you don’t, when you’re thrown in some dark hole somewhere, no one will come rescue you.”

“I’m king.  They’ll come,” Bhelen says firmly.

“So was Father,” Sereda points out hollowly.  “Kings can die like anyone else.”

“I hope one day you can forgive me,” Bhelen says.  “I don’t want this to be the last time we see each other.”

Sereda reaches down to grab her glove, slinging Trian’s maul over her back.  Her back screams in protest.  

“I could never forgive you for everything you’ve done, Bhelen.  I don’t even think it’s my place because I’m not much better than you are,” Sereda says tiredly.  “Goodbye.”

Without another word, she turns around as she fastens her glove.  She meets both Zevran and Alistair’s eyes, smiling grimly.  It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay.  She feels decades older, but it’s okay.

Part of her wishes that they could leave Orzammar tonight, but that would be a foolish risk since they couldn’t hike back to camp.  So she leads them back to the inn.  

The dwarf who owns the place is looking at her with newfound, unearned approval, and Sereda keeps marching onwards to her room.  It’s a relief when Zevran slips in the door without her having to say anything, even though they obviously won’t be having sex tonight.  Usually she enjoys the games they play, the way they dance around each other, but sometimes it’s just exhausting.  She barely has enough energy to breathe.

She drops the weaponry to the floor with a series of loud crashes and her armor follows suit, but she leaves her plainclothes on.  Part of her doesn’t want to see the bruising.  

Valda looks up, making a whining noise, and Sereda shushes him to keep him from worrying.  He pads over, licks her hand, and then returns to his bed.

“Are you okay?” Sereda asks.  

“I’m fine,” Zevran says, not looking at her as he takes off his own armor.  “Are you going to bathe tonight?”

“I think if I tried, I would accidentally drown myself,” Sereda says.

“As if I would permit that to happen,” Zevran says.

He looks handsome like that, just wearing a shift in the flickering candlelight.  Not that looking handsome is ever a problem for Zevran, even covered in dirt and grime from head to toe.  But it makes Sereda pause for a moment with a smile on her face despite everything.

“Still.  It’d make for some embarrassing campfire stories,” Sereda says, shaking her head.

Ooph, that’s a bad idea.  Her head starts to spin.  Everything starts to spin.  She staggers forward, reaching forward for something to support her.

Zevran reaches out to grab her, helping her to the bed.  “You need to rest.”

Sereda inhales deeply.  “Probably.  I’m not sure I’ll be able to, though.”

“I have a salve for bruises that I would be happy to apply for you,” Zevran says.  

“I bet you would,” Sereda says, voice dropping low. 

Zevran smiles, but she can tell that it’s a halfhearted disguise for his worry.  His hands are careful as they help her take her clothes off.  It’s a slow, agonizing process, now that she’s settled in a bit.  

Her whole torso is a huge bruise, mottled blue and black.  It’s ugly and looks like it’s going to last a while.  Or, it would if Wynne would let it heal naturally.  She’s not even going to mention the possibility that she may have cracked a rib or something.

She looks up to Zevran’s face for a reaction, unsurprised when she doesn’t see one.  The man knows how to hide his feelings.  

“It’s not as bad as it looks,” Sereda reassures him.  

Zevran unscrews the lid on the jar, dipping his fingers in.  Once his fingers are coated, he starts applying it gently to her chest.  His fingers skim along her collarbone, just above where the bruising actually starts.

It’s like he’s hesitant to touch where she’s actually hurt.  This has to be the first time he’s ever been hesitant to touch her breasts.  Eventually, his fingers slip just low enough to start coating the bruised part of her skin.

The tingling sensation makes her hiss in unexpected pleasure, but Zevran pulls back. 

“That was a good noise,” Sereda says, voice tight.  “That felt so good.  Please, keep touching me.”

That puts a small smile on Zevran’s face.  “Who am I to refuse such a request by such a beautiful woman?”

“Thank you,” Sereda murmurs as Zevran’s fingers return to stroking her body.

“I am glad that I can do something to make you more comfortable,” Zevran says.  “You have had an unpleasant few days, and the world is better when it sees your beautiful smile.”

“I feel…” Sereda ponders for a moment.  “Mostly tired, for now.  But also, like I could be a lot worse off than I am.  Almost grateful.”

“Grateful?” Zevran asks.  “I was expecting murderous.”

“I could have been stuck in Orzammar forever; I never would have left of my own volition.  There’s a lot about Orzammar that I miss- you topsiders have no idea how to properly roast a nug -but there’s also a lot that I would miss if I had to stay here,” Sereda says, eyes half closed as Zevran continues to spread the salve over her body.

“How does it feel, having your House back?  That is important to dwarves, yes?” Zevran asks, almost tentatively.

“It’d feel better if Bhelen did it out of anything other than his own self interest.  He just wanted to draw attention to the fact that I’m Aeducan so they’d kill me before him,” Sereda says.  

“Does it still feel good?” Zevran asks.

Sereda struggles with an answer for a second.  “There was a time when I would have given anything to get my House and caste back.  It didn’t seem like anything could possibly be worth living on the surface.  Not just because of the shame- the world is too big, too chaotic, too bright.  No matter how nice you and Alistair and Morrigan and Duncan were or how important what I was doing was, it didn’t seem worth it.”

“Now?” Zevran asks.

“Having my caste back doesn’t seem nearly as important.  I’m a Grey Warden, not an Aeducan.  Even if Bhelen didn’t make me angry and sick to my stomach, I wouldn’t stay down here,” Sereda says.  “Even if I didn’t have to stop the Blight, I’d walk back up to the surface right now, if I could.  The world is still too big, too chaotic, too bright, but it’s exciting now.  It’s good.”

“The sun has grown on you?” Zevran asks, looking up at her slyly.

“Something like that,” Sereda says, smiling at him.

In some ways, it makes her feel like less a dwarf.  The topside world is something to be looked at with disdain and, perhaps, horrified curiosity.  Maybe, if the only reason why she wanted to stay topside was Zevran, she could delude herself into thinking she was a lovelorn fool.  

But while Zevran is certainly part of why she wants to stay topside, he’s not everything.  The world is so much bigger than she could have dreamed.  There’s so much to see and do and experience.  By comparison, her home seems so small.

“I feel like I should apologize again.  Today was dangerous and dramatic, even by our standards, and a lot of it was my fault,” Sereda says eventually.  

“It will be rather hard to work you climbing up a golem into my play- limitations of the medium and all- but there’s no need to apologize for that,” Zevran says.  He seems to be concentrating so hard on his work that he can’t make eye contact with her at all.  “But you did almost die today in a rather preventable way.”

“I needed to get its attention,” Sereda explains.  “It was about to crush you.”

“What was it Bhelen said about you?  Too prone to personal attachment?” Zevran murmurs.  “Perhaps I agree with him on this one thing.”

“You- and everyone else- aren’t disposable to me like people are to Bhelen,” Sereda says.  “I’m not going to apologize for that.”

“Ah, but you need to save the world, my dearest Warden,” Zevran says.  “Compared to that, the rest of us are inconsequential.”

Ah, but she needs Zevran to do it.  She can’t tell him that, though.  

“I can’t do it alone,” Sereda says, and that’s part of the truth at least.  “Nobody can do something like this without other people.  Good people.  People worth protecting and risking my life for.”

Zevran tilts his head and his hair makes it impossible for her to read his facial expression.  He keeps massaging the salve into her skin, moving down her body in careful, small strokes.  The tingling sensation that follows his fingers soothes away the aches and pains from this disgustingly long day.  

When he’s done with her front, he slips behind her without saying anything and begins to rub her back.  He makes a strange noise.

“Is it bad?” Sereda asks.

“I’m impressed that you could fight the spirits, the golems, Branka, and Harrowmont’s men,” Zevran says.  “And punch Bhelen in the face.”

Sereda makes a hollow sound that’s supposed to be a laugh.  “He needed it.  Blighted fool.  The way he just kept talking like nothing happened was infuriating.”

“Perhaps he thought you would understand,” Zevran says.

“I do, mostly.  But I’m still not fond of being nearly murdered and then used.  Maybe if he showed some kind of genuine remorse for killing Trian or even Father,” Sereda says with a sigh.  “He won’t, though.”

“Speaking, ah, of killing.  What was that you mentioned earlier about breaking your arm during an assassination?” Zevran asks.  

“Hmm?” Sereda hums.  “You know better than anyone that princesses are targets of assassins all the time.  I was no exception.”

“I suppose that I had never thought about it before,” Zevran murmurs.  “I’ve had other things on my mind since finding out that you’re a princess.”

“Fair enough.  It wasn’t a big deal.  They managed to kidnap me and were going to kill me.  I was fourteen, I think,” Sereda says, closing her eyes.  “Luckily, the bastards were sadistic, wanted to hear the pretty princess scream for them before finishing it.”

“What happened?” Zevran asks quietly.  He sounds almost angry, which is silly for a reason that Sereda can’t quite put her finger on.

“The pretty princess refused to scream.  Stubborn bitch,” Sereda says.  Remembering it always makes her feel kind of dreamy, but in a bad way.  “No matter how many little slices they made with their knives, she refused to scream.  And then Trian found her and it was over.  I thought that he’d be mad because this was right after he was named heir and he was always mad, but he just helped me back to Orzammar and get cleaned up before anyone saw me.  Trian brought me my favorite kind of deep mushroom for ages after, even though they were hard to get.”

Zevran presses his lips against the nape of her neck.  “I’m sorry I brought it up.”

“It was a long time ago,” Sereda says.  “Nobody else knows- Trian killed them all and neither of us told anyone else what really happened.  Some assassins just broke my arm, that’s it.  He could have taken credit for saving me from a bunch of sadists, but he didn’t because I didn’t want everyone to look at me as the princess dumb enough to get tortured.  So nobody else ever found out.”

“And nobody else ever will,” Zevran assures her.  

“I know,” Sereda says.  She trusts him.

They lapse into silence and Sereda focuses on his fingers running over her skin and his warm breath on her neck.  He’s so close that she can feel his body heat, and it’s comforting.  She loves having him nearby.

By the time that he’s done with her, she’s moaning softly.  There are still plenty of aches and pains in her body, but she feels so much better than she expected.  His fingers are too talented for her own good.  

“I hope that I have been able to ease your pain somewhat,” Zevran murmurs.  

He’s still behind her, hands resting gently on her shoulders.  Even though he’s finished applying his salve, he’s still massaging her neck gently with his thumbs.

“I owe you so many backrubs.  My hands aren’t nearly as skilled as yours, but I know a thing or two about making you feel good,” Sereda says.  

“I assure you, you owe me nothing,” Zevran murmurs.  “I always do enjoy taking the chance to touch you.”

“Trust me, I’ll enjoy owing you,” Sereda says.

Zevran chuckles.  “Then you owe me.”

“Good,” Sereda says contentedly.  “I’m already thinking up ways to pay you back.  There are ropes and oils involved.”

“Sounds excellent,” Zevran says.  “Now, I think, we should both sleep.”

Trying to find a position that doesn’t leave her in pain is hard, but she lays on her side, facing Zevran, with a few pillows to help keep her properly positioned.  He can’t curl against her without getting the salve on him and risking hurting her, so he lays beside her, watching her.

They do this sometimes, both of them staring at each other in her tent.  It’s like a secret between them, where they can admit just how entranced with each other they are, as long as it’s near dark and neither of them say anything.  

Usually, he falls asleep first and she watches him sleep for a while.  But today, she’s more exhausted than she’s ever been, so she’s unsurprised when her eyes slide closed against her will.  Before she slips all the way into unconsciousness, she thinks she feels a gentle caress and soft murmuring in Antivan.

* * *

Sereda wakes up first, her body more sore than it was last night.  Zevran’s miracle salve must have worn off.  Too bad.  

But she feels happy, light.  As conflicting as confusing as her time in Orzammar has been, she feels more certain than ever that what she’s doing is important and her happiness is no longer weighed down by guilt over what happened to Trian.  

She leans over to kiss Zevran’s dirty cheek tenderly before getting up and starting a bath.  Might as well be clean for her trip back to camp.  The warm water might also be soothing.  At least, she hopes so.

The reality doesn’t quite live up to her hopes, but at least she’s wiping off the dirt, grime, and blood from yesterday.  It’s amazing how it manages to seep under her armor. 

By the time she’s done, the water is a disgusting shade of brown, but she’s clean.  She’s also enjoying Zevran’s presence in the corner, leaning against the wall and watching her bathe.  He’s tossing out the occasional dirty comment, but mostly just complimenting her fine physique.  

When she’s done, he helps her get out of the bathtub on the pretense that he wants to take the chance to feel her up.  He does manage to squeeze her ass once, which makes her laugh and jokingly swat his hand away.  

“So, now I get to watch you bathe, hmm?” Sereda says, leaning as casually against the wall as she can manage.  “Turnabout is fair play, after all.”

“Ah, my dear Warden, but Alistair will be downstairs eating, presumably wondering if this is the night that I’ve decided to assassinate you in your sleep.  Best you put his mind at ease,” Zevran says as he waits for the tub to refill.  

“Hey, when we were talking yesterday, he said he didn’t think you were seducing me to kill me anymore,” Sereda says.  

“Excellent, then perhaps he will spend less time watching me suspiciously and more time doing whatever it is you Grey Wardens do.  Or, perhaps he likes to watch me.  I would understand that.  I am very handsome,” Zevran says.  “But, you should still put his mind at ease.”

She knows that he’s actually talking about her emotional well being, so she nods reluctantly and heads into the bedroom.  Sereda finds her clean set of plainclothes and pulls them on before going down to the main part of the inn.  

Sure enough, Alistair is sitting in the corner, picking at a plate of deep mushrooms.  She orders roast nug and goes to sit with him.

When she sits down, he looks up and smiles briefly.  “There you are.  I was, uh, kind of worried about you.  The almost being killed by a golem and also your brother thing.”

“Hey, you and Zevran were also almost killed by a golem and my brother,” Sereda points out.  “He’s an equal opportunity nughumper.” 

“I’m no expert, but I think almost being killed by your brother is more difficult than almost being killed by your friend’s brother.  Especially if your brother has almost killed you before and is a big jerk,” Alistair says, shrugging.  “I could be wrong.”

Sereda takes a bite of her roast nug to give herself some time.  “Remember how you didn’t want to tell us that you were Maric’s son?  Because you were worried about how we would treat you?”

“If you had told me you were also a princess, I wouldn’t’ve worried so much,” Alistair says.  

“And try to explain all this?” Sereda asks, waving a hand around.  “No thanks.”

Alistair chuckles.  “Understandable.”

“Anyway, it was like that when we were growing up.  Everyone was always nice to me and my brothers, but we learned pretty quickly that they always wanted something from us.  It was really lonely growing up, but it was okay because the three of us had each other.  Until, of course, we didn’t,” Sereda says, shrugging.  “I mean, I know there are a lot worse ways to grow up and I sound terrible for complaining about being a princess.  But it was lonely, and losing Trian and, in a way, Bhelen, was like losing some integral part of who I was.”  

“I’m sorry,” Alistair says, patting her arm.  “That must have been difficult.  I honestly didn’t realize how close you had been to your brothers.  Even after, you know, I found out you had brothers.”

“But, uh, I’m actually okay with it now,” Sereda says, smiling at him.  “Because I have people now, and some of them would probably still like me even if we weren’t doing important world-saving stuff.  And I’m out of family members for people to murder, so I don’t have to worry about that happening again.”

Alistair laughs a little.  “That’s… a relief?”

“It is, it is,” Sereda says, nodding.  “So, I’m fine.  Except for the bruising.  That hurts a  _ lot _ .  But Zevran had a good salve that worked wonders last night!”

“I’m pretty sure I don’t want to hear what happened next,” Alistair says, wrinkling his nose.  

“I was too sore for anything to happen next,” Sereda says, snorting.  “You don’t have to worry.”

“The nice thing about staying in an inn is that it’s quieter than having a tent next to you two,” Alistair says.

“I’d say we’ll try to keep it down but…” Sereda trails up, shrugging innocently.

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Alistair says, shaking his head.  “And for the record, I would still be your friend even if we weren’t saving the world together.  But I’d be your friend more if you and Zevran weren’t so blasted loud at night.”

“I’d be your friend, too,” Sereda says, smiling.  “You’re a good friend.”

She’s never had a friend that she could just relax around like this.  Even her brothers had been mean to her more than they had been nice sometimes and there had been a necessary social distance with Gorim.  After years of loneliness, it had taken her so long to recognize what was happening.  Nobody had warned her how great finding a friendship like this would be.

“And you know that you’re a good person, right?” Alistair asks.  “You’re not like Bhelen.”

“I’m not so sure anymore,” Sereda says with a sigh.

“I am,” Alistair says firmly.  

Sereda can’t say anything around the sudden lump in her throat, so she just looks up into her friend’s eyes and nods, hoping he understands.  He smiles back and squeezes her hand gently.

“Ah, my two favorite Grey Wardens, enjoying a meal together.  Room for two more?” Zevran asks, Valda padding alongside him.

“Of course,” Sereda says, clearing her throat.

“Valda  _ is _ growing on me,” Alistair adds.

“Oh, you wound me, Alistair,” Zevran says as he sits down.  “Or are you admitting that you’ve been fond of me from the start?”

Alistair opts to pop a deep mushroom in his mouth instead of answering.

Sereda slips a piece of her roast nug under the table to Valda before scratching his ear.  She raises an eyebrow as Zevran also slips a piece of roast nug from her plate as well as a deep mushroom off Alistair’s.  

“Hey!” Alistair protests.

“Here, take a bit of nug,” Sereda suggests, holding her plate out.  “It’s good!  You can’t get roast nug like this on the surface.  They don’t get the seasoning quite right.”

Alistair takes a piece, still looking at Zevran with suspicion.  “I didn’t realize that you were a food critic, Sereda.”

“Our beautiful Grey Warden is a woman of many hidden talents,” Zevran says affectionately, smiling at her.

“Okay, this  _ is  _ really good,” Alistair says with some clear reluctance.

“See!” Sereda says, laughing.  “It’s the seasoning, I’m telling you!”

Soon, the three of them are all eating off of both plates, laughing and chatting companionably about surface food versus Orzammar food.  Honestly, this is the happiest she’s ever been in Orzammar.  Sereda could sit here with them for ages, but unfortunately, they have to get going.  

It takes some time for them to gather their stuff up.  An awful lot of her things are soiled so badly that she considers throwing them away.  Her armor also still has the massive dent in the chest, but she’ll take care of that back at camp.  Orzammar has not been kind to her things.  

Zevran pulls his own armor on, and his eyes linger over her chest.  It’s not in the way he usually looks at her, either with overt sexuality or with quiet affection (or both).  This morning, he’s watching her with concern.  

Before they leave the room, she pulls him down for a firm, reassuring kiss.  That it makes her body ache (in a bad way, not in the usual way) probably means he’s right to look at her with concern, but she doesn’t want him to know it.  This is a happy moment.

* * *

Sereda isn’t surprised when she finds Oghren waiting for them outside the Hall of Heroes.  

“I figure you might need a big hammer to do whatever it is that you’re doing,” Oghren says, gruffly.

“I don’t-” Alistair says.

Sereda interrupts him, nodding.  “Welcome aboard full time, then.  Hope you like killing darkspawn and being hunted by all kinds of folks.”

With no House and no hope left, she understands why Oghren would want to leave.  Just like her, there’s nothing left for him in Orzammar.  Sending him out on his own seems too cruel, and he was good in the fight yesterday.  

Oghren laughs and claps her shoulder.  “Sounds like the life.” 

“I’ll buy you your first ale topside,” Sereda says trying not to wince at the physical contact.  She’s sore, blast it.

“I think I’m going to like working for you,” Oghren says.

“The  _ first _ one,” she emphasizes.  She’s not paying Oghren’s bar tabs in perpetuity.  

They walk through the Hall of Heroes, the statues looming tall over them.  This will be the last glimpse of Orzammar she sees, possibly for the rest of her life.  She’s not deluded enough to think she’ll definitely survive this and she doesn’t know why she’d ever come back.  

When they reach the surface, Oghren sighs and looks up, wide eyed.  “Just… give me a moment.”  

“You okay?” Sereda asks, taking in the sky above her again.

“There’s just so much of it.  It doesn’t end,” Oghren says.  “It seems unnatural.”

Sereda nods a little, still looking up.  “You never really get over that feeling, but it gets less scary.  More beautiful.”

“I’ll believe that when it happens,” Oghren says.  

“You take as much time as you need,” Sereda says.

Sereda takes a few steps forward, not to rush Oghren, but so she’s standing beside Zevran.  She’s still staring up at the sky as her fingers somehow intertwine with his.  Totally on accident, she’s sure.  

Not even a week ago, she had passed through here, full of doubt and shame.  She had been terrified about her friends finding out about her past and about what she would find down in Orzammar.  It had been more difficult and painful than she had expected, but she came through it with the help of people who care about her, who she cares about in return.  

Now there’s a peace in her heart that she barely recognizes, despite the things that she’s done.  Maybe she’s an awful person, despite what Alistair said, but she can still live with herself.  Her ghosts have been laid to rest at long last.

“Are you okay?” Zevran asks in a voice so soft it almost gets lost in the breeze.

Sereda is about to brush him off until she realizes there are tears welling at the corners of her eyes.  She hadn’t even noticed.

“I’m just…” Sereda searches for a way to explain it as she wipes the tears away.  The simplest answer seems to be the best.  “I’m really happy right now, Zevran.”

His fingers squeeze hers.  “It’s good to see your lovely smile.”

As much as she loves her people and loves her home, they’re not really hers anymore.  The Grey Wardens are her people now, and wherever their group makes camp is her home.  Maybe one day Zevran will be home.  That’d be nice.

The Sereda who was home in Orzammar died on the day of her commission just as surely as Trian did.  It just took longer for her to realize it.  This life she has is better and makes her happier than her old one ever could have been, and she is through feeling guilty or ashamed for that.


End file.
